I am going to buy a book, and write in it various headings, and at times I will open it and whatever the heading suggests to me, there I will write the thought.
The true ideal seems false. - the beautiful unattainable. These are bad times for the poet. Courage!
Two weeks spent in hospital for operation. What at first threatened to be a period of ennui produced by idleness turned out to be most productive – After the third day, I could read and sketch.
Now is the time when starry nights and early morning mean the most to us.
I walk out. It is cold, but the air fine and elastic—I am filled with a glowing warmth—
A Jolly Christmas! And a bright New Year! Today is Christmas.
Today the brilliant watery sunshine seemed like a mid-winter spring – the earth is full of rumblings.
We then went out to the barn and here I saw my first glimpse of the tree; it certainly was a beauty; it was a perfectly shaped tree and thick with branches, which, on setting it up, we found, could be spread out in to a very round compact piece of Christmas cheer.
The bark of a young evergreen – a soft silken texture, a beautiful ashen, or smoky ____ in color, the light from the sum reflected in a soft yellow high light –
I’ll probably be ridden out of town on a rail for saying this but, I think Buffalo in the winter time is especially beautiful. I hope this picture proves my point.