The Truth--a Hideous Spectacle!

I Always Hankered To Be A Composer - I Was Mad About Music, Though I Never Studied Seriously, And Can't Read A Note. But I Learned To Play The Piano And Became Pretty Skillful At Improvisation, Especially After A Drop Or Two.

The Wind Shrieks, The Wind Grieves; It Dashes The Leaves On Walls, It Whirls Then Again; And The Enormous Sleeper Vaguely And Stupidly Dreams And Desires To Stir, To Resist A Ghost Of Pain.

How Shall We Praise The Magnificence Of The Dead, The Great Man Humbled, The Haughty Brought To Dust?

As Poetry Is The Highest Speech Of Man, It Can Not Only Accept And Contain, But In The End Express Best Everything In The World, Or In Himself, That He Discovers. It Will Absorb And Transmute, As It Always Has Done, And Glorify, All That We Can Know. This Has Always Been, And Always Will Be, Poetry's Office.

The One You Love Leans Forward, Smiles, Deceives You, Opens A Door Through Which You See Dark Dreams.