We Are Led To Believe

Poetry Fettered Fetters The Human Race.

The Poison Tree I Was Angry With My Friend: I Told My Wrath, My Wrath Did End. I Was Angry With My Foe; I Told It Not, My Wrath Did Grow. And I Water'd It In Fears, Night & Morning With My Tears; And I Sunned It With My Smiles And With Soft Deceitful Wiles. And It Grew Both Day And Night, Till It Bore An Apple Bright; And My Foe Beheld It Shine, And He Knew That It Was Mine, And Into My Garden Stole When The Night Had Veil'd The Pole: In The Morning Glad I See My Foe Outstretch'd Beneath The Tree.

Every Man Who Is Not An Artist Is A Traitor To His Own Nature.

And Priests In Black Gowns Were Walking Their Rounds And Binding With Briars My Joys And Desires. (from 'the Garden Of Love')

The Child's Toys And The Old Man's Reasons Are The Fruits Of Two Seasons.