Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

myself baffled and came down. Washed my hands in water. Was the tinkle of the water produced by the pieces of moonlight silver clashing in its rapids? The moonlight perhaps is carried down by the water, and does not come forth until in the day time, when all at once at an unexpected moment, it flutters forth, free, into the air, from the tip of some ripple.Cross fence at Lane. Ascend grassy hill. Lean against a solitary chestnut. Tho that face is unruffled one might imagine, that a