One Must Be Drenched In Words, Literally

And Inasmuch As The Bridge Is A Symbol Of All Such Poetry As I Am Interested In Writing It Is My Present Fancy That A Year From Now I'll Be More Contented Working In An Office Than Ever Before.

One Must Be Drenched In Words, Literally Soaked In Them.

Permit Me Voyage, Love, Into Your Hands.

And So She Comes To Dream Herself The Tree, The Wind Possessing Her, Weaving Her Young Veins, Holding Her To The Sky And Its Quick Blue, Drowning The Fever Of Her Hands In Sunlight. She Has No Memory, Nor Fear, Nor Hope Beyond The Grass And Shadows At Her Feet.

The Fact That The Bridge Contains Folk Lore And Other Material Suitable To The Epic Form Need Not Therefore Prove Its Failure As A Long Lyric Poem, With Interrelated Sections.