For Poetry The Idea Is Everything; The

Weary Of Myself, And Sick Of Asking What I Am, And What I Ought To Be, At This Vessel's Prow I Stand, Which Bears Me Forwards, Forwards, O'er The Starlit Sea.

I Am A Liberal, Yet I Am A Liberal Tempered By Experience, Reflexion, And Renouncement, And I Am, Above All, A Believer In Culture.

Our Society Distributes Itself Into Barbarians, Philistines And Populace; And America Is Just Ourselves With The Barbarians Quite Left Out, And The Populace Nearly.

One Thing Only Has Been Lent To Youth And Age In Common--discontent.

Thou Waitest For The Spark From Heaven! And We, Light Half-believers In Our Casual Deeds . . . Who Hesitate And Falter Life Away, And Lose Tomorrow The Ground Won Today- Ah, Do Not We, Wanderer, Await It Too?