Vulgarity Is, In Reality, Nothing

As For The Usefulness Of Poetry, Its Uses Are Many. It Is The Deification Of Reality.

But I Saw The Little-ant Men As They Ran Carrying The World's Weight Of The World's Filth And The Filth In The Heart Of Man-- Compressed Till Those Lusts And Greeds Had A Greater Heat Than That Of The Sun.

It Is Hardly Respectable To Be Good Nowadays.

If One Is A Greyhound, Why Try To Look Like A Pekingese?

Said The Sun To The Moon-'when You Are But A Lonely White Crone, And I, A Dead King In My Golden Armour Somewhere In A Dark Wood, Remember Only This Of Our Hopeless Love That Never Till Time Is Done Will The Fire Of The Heart And The Fire Of The Mind Be One