All Moanday, Tearday, Wailsday, Thumpsday, Frightday, Shatterday.

A Man Of Genius Makes No Mistakes; His Errors Are Volitional And Are The Portals Of Discovery.

Away! Away! The Spell Of Arms And Voices: The White Arms Of Roads, Their Promise Of Close Embraces And The Black Arms Of Tall Ships That Stand Against The Moon, Their Tale Of Distant Nations. They Are Held Out To Say: We Are Alone. Come. And The Voices Say With Them: We Are Your Kinsmen. And The Air Is Thick With Their Company As They Call To Me, Their Kinsman, Making Ready To Go, Shaking The Wings Of Their Exultant And Terrible Youth... Welcome, O Life! I Go To Encounter For The Millionth Time The Reality Of Experience And To Forge In The Smithy Of My Soul The Uncreated Conscience Of My Race.

Ulysses Is Son To Laertes, But He Is Father To Telemachus, Husband To Penelope, Lover Of Calypso, Companion In Arms Of The Greek Warriors Around Troy, And King Of Ithaca. He Was Subjected To Many Trials, But With Wisdom And Courage Came Through Them All.... He Is A Complete Man As Well, A Good Man.

A Wild Angel Had Appeared To Him, The Angel Of Mortal Youth And Beauty, An Envoy From The Fair Courts Of Life, To Throw Open Before Him In An Instant Of Ecstasy The Gates Of All The Ways Of Error And Glory.

I Am A Worker, A Tombstone Mason, Anxious To Pleace Averyburies And Jully Glad When Christmas Comes His Once Ayear.