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60 [[strikethrough]] Wednesday. February 29, 1928 [[strikethrough]] April 19 Why, I ask my - myself, are you feeling sad? You shouldn't be, because it's Spring, And there's a questioning warmth in the air, Little struggling buds on trees, and every where Difiant strips of grass, tenderly green, [[strikethrough]] and [[strikethrough Precocious dandelions, where once had been The ugly thaw of snow on [[strikethrough]] brown [[/strikethrough]] hardened ground, completely bare. Why be sad myself, I say, why as you care that he is going away? After you part You can love all these things with your own heart- You and your heart can both be glad- it's time that you were glad of every thing. But then I tell myself, what I know, that when he goes, my my heart will go! 61 [[strikethrough]] Thursday, March 1, 1928]] strikethrough]] April 19 Sadness & The Mist [[strikethrough]] Somehow [[/strikethrough]] With you I went into the mist last night And loved the far-awayness of the sky, The eerie, deadness of each bulb of light, The swishing sound of tires rolling by On glistening asphalt; and the skeletons Of threes, all black and bare, line sharpely kissed By dimme'd light. I've seen too many suns, Who've made me [[strikethrough]] glad to be alive [[/strikethrough]] prosaically glad, the mist was different; last night it made me [[strikethrough]] feel [[/strikethrough]] be [[strikethrough]] That being happy was not all; that clear And crystally things alone can make me glad; That mystery and sadness from unreal Things [[/strikethrough] In love with things that seemed not to exist On earth, in cities, [[strikethrough]] as [[/strikethrough]] and with things that had Been shrouded with a sadness or a mystery. I loved the [[strikethrough]] [[alestorart?]] [[/strikethrough]] safe & unreal, sorrowing I loved the tender ache of feeling sad.
