For poems are not, as people think, simply emotions (one has emotions early enough)-they are experiences.
It seems to me that almost all our sadnesses are moments of tension, which we feel as paralysis because we no longer hear our astonished emotions living.
All emotions are pure which gather you and lift you up; that emotion is impure which seizes only one side of your being and so distorts you.
But suppose the endlessly dead were to wake in us some emblem: they might point to the catkins hanging from the empty hazel trees, or direct us to the rain descending on black earth in early spring. --- And we, who always think of happiness rising, would feel the emotion that almost baffles us when a happy thing falls.
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