My mind grows very uncomfortable at times, as tonight. I am haunted by the thought
that the poetry in me is rapidly drying out i.e - . that last year or the year before
I saw more beauty in nature, or with a more innocent eye.
Perhaps I expect great returns all at once from merely looking towards an ideal.
Perhaps as I travel towards it, poetry will reawaken.
Charles E. Burchfield, September 11 1914