[BNP/E3, 49A2 – 75]

2-7-08.

I suffer more than creature ever did.

Laugh not. It is not famine, toil or care

For a aught that compose, not stranger nor rare,

The † where madness oft lies hid.

My ills are all of thinking, for to bear

The consciousness of dream being hid

Under the {…}

The world wheels round are in its truth and sense

And in one real my feelings so that I

Find instability all where and dense

Confusion and soul-shivering and tense

Slandering of heart-strings,  {…} of misery

And all the while life without whence nor why![1]

 
[1] And all the while life without whence nor why! /And living or knowing not where and why!\ /And life goes on, I know not whence nor why!\