A Fortress Against Ideas And Against The

I Am Not Yet Born; O Fill Me With Strength Against Those Who Would Freeze My Humanity, Would Dragoon Me Into A Lethal Automaton Would Make Me A Cog In A Machine, A Thing With One Face, A Thing

Time Was Away And Somewhere Else, There Were Two Glasses And Two Chairs And Two People With One Pulse.

September Has Come, It Is Hers Whose Vitality Leaps In The Autumn, Whose Nature Prefers Trees Without Leaves And A Fire In The Fireplace. So I Give Her This Month And The Next Though The Whole Of My Year Should Be Hers Who Has Rendered Already So Many Of Its Days Intolerable Or Perplexed But So Many More So Happy. Who Has Left A Scent On My Life, And Left My Walls Dancing Over And Over With Her Shadow Whose Hair Is Twined In All My Waterfalls And All Of London Littered With Remembered Kisses.

Up The Rebels, To Hell With The Pope, And God Save--as You Prefer--the King Or Ireland. The Land Of Scholars And Saints: Scholars And Saints My Eye, The Land Of Ambush, Purblind Manifestoes, Never-ending Complaints

Down The Road Someone Is Practicing Scales, The Notes Like Little Fishes Vanish With A Wink Of Tails