VI.
Oh, baffled, lost,
Bent to the very earth, here preceding what follows,
Terrified with myself that I have dared to open my mouth,
Aware now, that, amid all the blab whose echoes recoil upon me, I have not
once had the least idea who or what I am,
But that before all my insolent poems the real me still stands
untouched, untold, altogether unreached,
Withdrawn far, mocking me with mock-congratulatory signs and bows,
With peals of distant ironical laughter at every word I have written or
shall write,
Striking me with insults, till I fall helpless upon the sand!
VII.
Oh, I think I have not understood anything,--not a single object,--and
that no man ever can!
VIII.
I think Nature here, in sight of the sea, is taking advantage of me to
oppress me,
Because I was assuming so much,
And because I have dared to open my mouth to sing at all.
IX.
You oceans both! You tangible land! Nature!
Be not too stern with me,--I submit,--I close with you,--
These little shreds shall, indeed, stand for all.
X.
You friable shore, with trails of debris!
You fish-shaped island! I take what is underfoot:
What is yours is mine, my father!
XI.
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