But The One Thing You Should. Not

The Rustling Of The Silk Is Discontinued, Dust Drifts Over The Courtyard, There Is Not Sound Of Footfall, And The Leaves Scurry Into Heaps And Lie Still, And She The Rejoicer Of The Heart Is Beneath Them: A Wet Leaf That Clings To The Threshold.

And In The Mean Time My Songs Will Travel, And The Devirginated Young Ladies Will Enjoy Them When They Have Got Over The Strangeness

In Case I Conk Out, This Is Provisionally What I Have To Do: I Must Clarify Obscurities; I Must Make Clearer Definite Ideas Or Dissociations. I Must Find A Verbal Formula To Combat The Rise Of Brutality--the Principle Of Order Versus The Split Atom.

That Text Is Known To Them That Have The Patience To Read It, Possibly One One-hundredth Of One Percent Of The Denizens. They Forget It, All Save A Few Western States. I Think Somebody In Dakota Once Read It. The Constitution.

Mass Ought To Be In Latin, Unless You Could Do It In Greek Or Chinese. In Fact, Any Abracadabra That No Bloody Member Of The Public Or Half-educated Ape Of A Clargimint Could Think He Understood.