If Society Fits You Comfortably Enough, You

Word I Was In My Life Alone, / Word I Had No One Left But God.

When I Was Young My Teachers Were The Old. I Gave Up Fire For Form Till I Was Cold.

Everyone Asks For Freedom For Himself, The Man Free Love, The Businessman Free Trade, The Writer And Talker Free Speech And Free Press.

Scholars And Artists Thrown Together Are Often Annoyed At The Puzzle Of Where They Differ. Both Work From Knowledge; But I Suspectthey Differ Most Importantly In The Way Their Knowledge Is Come By. Scholars Get Theirs With Conscientious Thoroughness Along Projected Lines Of Logic; Poets Theirs Cavalierly And As It Happens In And Out Of Books. They Stick To Nothing Deliberately, But Let What Will Stick To Them Like Burrs Where They Walk In The Fields.

Forgive Me My Nonsense, As I Also Forgive The Nonsense Of Those That Think They Talk Sense.