I Love Humanity But I

Love Is Not All: It Is Not Meat Nor Drink Nor Slumber Nor A Roof Against The Rain; Nor Yet A Floating Spar To Men That Sink.

After The Feet Of Beauty Fly My Own.

That Which Has Quelled Me, Lives With Me, Accomplice In Catastrophe.

You See, I Am A Poet, And Not Quite Right In The Head, Darling. It’s Only That.

No One But Night, With Tears On Her Dark Face, Watches Beside Me In This Windy Place.