What I Do Is Me, For That

Glory Be To God For Dappled Things.

I Am Surprised You Shd. Say Fancy And Aesthetic Tastes Have Led Me To My Present State Of Mind: These Wd. Be Better Satisfied In The Church Of England, For Bad Taste Is Always Meeting One In The Accessories Of Catholicism.

Thou Art Indeed Just, Lord, If I Contend With Thee; But, Sir, So What I Plead Is Just. Why Do Sinners' Ways Prosper? And Why Must Disappointment All I Endeavour End?

But . . . I May As Well Say What I Should Not Otherwise Have Said, That I Always Knew In My Heart Walt Whitman’s Mind To Be More Like My Own Than Any Other Man’s Living. As He Is A Very Great Scoundrel This Is Not A Pleasant Confession.

Because The Holy Ghost Over The Bent World Broods With Warm Breast And With Ah! Bright Wings.