If it form the one landscape that we, the inconstant ones,Are consistently homesick for, this is chieflyBecause it dissolves in water.
With which we have nothing, we like to hope, in common. --- knowing each other too well to thinkThere are any important secrets --- I know this poem too close
That is why, I suppose,The best and worst never stayed here long but soughtImmoderate soils where the beauty was not so external,The light less public
an older colder voice, the oceanic whisper:"I am the solitude that asks and promises nothing;That is how I shall set you free. There is no love;There are only the various envies, all of them sad." this part is near~er what I am thinking of [andstill too much too close too obvious -to me- the rhythm and words- too known, exactly: knowing each other too well. give me instead Margaret When you are Older You will come to such sights Colder] but to the task at hand: is there not another poem that says ~ faced with a landscape of absolute desolation, how could I not but imagine a perfect love?

I, too, am reproached, for whatAnd how much you know. yes I know I seem to. hardly can take it.