9. Trumbull Stickney





From The Soul of Time, 1904
        Time’s a circumference
        Whereof the segment of our station seems
        A long straight line from nothing into naught.
        Therefore we say “progress,” “infinity” —
        Dull words whose object
        Hangs in the air of error and delights
        Our boyish minds a hunt for butterflies.
        For aspiration studies not the sky
        But looks for stars





From I Used to Think, 1905
  •         I used to think 
  •         The mind essential in the body, even 
  •         As stood the body essential in the mind: 
  •         Two inseparable things, by nature equal 
  •         And similar, and in creation’s song 
  •         Halving the total scale: it is not so. 
  •         Unlike and cross like driftwood sticks they come 
  •         Churned in the giddy trough: a chunk of pine, 
  •         A slab of rosewood: mangled each on each 
  •         With knocks and friction, or in deadly pain 
  •         Sheathing each other’s splinters: till at last 
  •         Without all stuff or shape they’re jetted up 
  •         Where in the bluish moisture rot whate’er 
  •         Was vomited in horror from the sea.