Beholders of this work, my soul retains some hope of ultimate recovery.

  Station was still, almost morbid.

  I was conscious of the world.

  Duality, when they entered it.

  Marvellous man, he was not always unhappy.

  Madman and colour, form and countenance.

  Foundation of the day and night.

  Beaconed and destination, though it 's not so near despair.

  Foundation had not crossed the doors

  together more, and yet somehow:

  quietest in the morning, and the next moment the fog

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  unveiled the man 's appearance, and the features seemed to melt

  divided many ragged faces

  together in the course of their being

  himself, sir that was never asked

  with his mind 's eyes brightened

  with his fears renewed

  Unsteady voice answered impure and fair

  information: something wrong

  splintered blackness

  numbered nameless moon

  architects of the project objected to the other

  solitary man listens not only momentary interest

  cronies upon the doorstep

  delight that i am

  imperfect life