What instrument are you?

Circles around me singing the very edge and presence of the young moon—And it brushes the tip like lip three times. that's a poem from veils I found it.

Outside hove Shasta, snowy height on height, A glory; but a negligible sight, For you had often seen a mountain-peak But not my paper. So we came to speak... A smoke, a smile,—a good way to commenceThe comfortable exchange of difference! You a young engineer, five feet eleven, Forty-five chest, with football in your heaven, Liking a road-bed newly built and clean,