Let Them Not Make Me A Stone

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

Blind Wantons Like The Gulls Who Scream And Rip The Edge Off Any Ideal Or Dream.

Why Do We Like Being Irish? Partly Because It Gives Us A Hold On The Sentimental English As Members Of A World That Never Was, Baptized With Fairy Water

In My Own Prejudice.. I Would Have Of A Poet...whose Worlds Would Not Be Too Esoteric..fond Of Talking....capable Of Pity And Laughter..appreciative Of Womem..involved In Personal Relationships...susceptible To Physical Impressions

I Am Not Yet Born; O Fill Me With Strength Against Those Who Would Freeze My Humanity.