What I Do Is Me, For That

The World Is Charged With The Grandeur Of God.

Elected Silence, Sing To Me And Beat Upon My Whorlèd Ear, Pipe Me To Pastures Still And Be The Music That I Care To Hear.

Every True Poet, I Thought, Must Be Original And Originality A Condition Of Poetic Genius; So That Each Poet Is Like A Species In Nature (not An Individuum Genericum Or Specificum ) And Can Never Recur. That Nothing Shd. Be Old Or Borrowed However Cannot Be.

Religion, You Know, Enters Very Deep; In Reality It Is The Deepest Impression I Have In Speaking To People, That They Are Or That They Are Not Of My Religion.

When I Compare Myself, My Being-myself, With Anything Else Whatever, All Things Alike, All In The Same Degree, Rebuff Me With Blank Unlikeness.