Sometimes with one I love I fill myself with rage for fear I effuse
But now I think there is no unreturn'd love, the pay is certain
one way or another,
(I loved a certain person ardently and my love was not return'd,
Yet out of that I have written these songs.)
Spirit that Form'd this Scene
Written in Platte Cañon, Colorado.
Spirit that form'd this scene, These tumbled rock-piles grim and red, These reckless heaven-ambitious peaks, These gorges, turbulent-clear streams, this naked freshness, These formless wild arrays, for reasons of their own, I know thee, savage spirit—we have communed together, Mine too such wild arrays, for reasons of their own; Was't charged against my chants they had forgotten art? To fuse within themselves its rules precise and delicatesse? The lyrist's measur'd beat, the wrought-out temple's grace—column and polish'd arch forgot? But thou that revelest here—spirit that form'd this scene, They have remember'd thee.