SHADOWS OF SHADOWS<br>
PASSING.<br>
IT IS NOW 1831 AND, AS ALWAYS,<br>
I AM ABSORBED WITH A DELICATE THOUGHT.<br>
IT IS HOW POETRY<br>
HAS INDEFINITE SENSATIONS<br>
TO WHICH END<br>
MUSIC IS AN ESSENTIAL.<br>
SINCE THE COMPREHENSION OF SWEET SOUND<br>
IS OUR MOST INDEFINITE CONCEPTION,<br>
MUSIC, WHEN COMBINED WITH <br>
A PLEASURABLE IDEA,<br>
IS POETRY.<br>
MUSIC, WITHOUT THE IDEA<br>
IS SIMPLY MUSIC.<br>
WITHOUT MUSIC <br>
OR AN INTRIGUING IDEA<br>
COLOR BECOMES PALLOR,<br>
MAN BECOMES CARCASS,<br>
HOME BECOMES CATACOMB,<br>
AND THE DEAD<br>
ARE BUT FOR A MOMENT<br>
MOTIONLESS.<br>
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