The spirit of my flesh rose like a wind-blown flame.
A loud cry rang in my nerve-wilderness.
That moment the variant analysis which always rides with me stopped
dead.
There came instead sheer feeling--the merciless beauty.
--a man-person, maybe--the man of happy unanalytic brutality--to be
suddenly there with me: to flash into my shadowy solitude like a
lightning bolt and burst and break me.
--a quarter-hour of exquisite wildness--restlessness, made of
Star-flame and Lily-petal and Cloud-burst on Mountain-summits and
Sea-waves purple in a Stormy Dawn--an intolerable hunger and ecstasy--
But just gone and I sit writing it in the pale cast of thought.
But breathlessly I recall the breathlessness of it.
_My shoes_