Deep In The Secret Chambers Of My

Upon The Clothes Behind The Tenement, That Hang Like Ghosts Suspended From The Lines, Linking Each Flat, But To Each Indifferent, Incongruous And Strange The Moonlight Shines.

Deep In The Secret Chambers Of My Heart I Muse My Life-long Hate, And Without Flinch I Bear It Nobly As I Live My Part.

The Shivering Birds Beneath The Eaves Have Sheltered For The Night.

Idealism Is Like A Castle In The Air If It Is Not Based On A Solid Foundation Of Social And Political Realism.

I Know The Dark Delight Of Being Strange, The Penalty Of Difference In The Crowd, The Loneliness Of Wisdom Among Fools.