XIX.

Of all the souls that stand create
I elected one.
When I realized he wasn’t right—
Figured I was done.

When that which is and that which was
Apart, intrinsic, stand,
And this brief tragedy of shared toothpaste
Is shifted like a sand;

When figures show their royal front
And mists are carved away,—
Even then I’ll not care to speak to him—
Morning—night—or day.

—

Her rather famous final draft (sic). The more authentic (and accurately transcribed) version.