As We To The Brutes, Poets Are

She [comedy] It Is Who Proposes The Correcting Of Pretentiousness, Of Inflation, Of Dulness, And Of The Vestiges Of Rawness And Grossness To Be Found Among Us. She Is The Ultimate Civilizer, The Polisher, A Sweet Cook.

Lovely Are The Curves Of The White Owl Sweeping Wavy In The Dusk Lit By One Large Star. Lone On The Fir-branch, His Rattle-note Unvaried, Brooding O'er The Gloom, Spins The Brown Eve-jar.

Ah, What A Dusty Answer Gets The Soul When Hot For Certainties In This Our Life! - In Tragic Hints Here See What Evermore Moves Dark As Yonder Midnight Ocean's Force, Thundering Like Ramping Hosts Of Warrior Horse, To Throw That Faint Thin Fine Upon The Shore!

See Ye Not, Courtesy Is The True Alchemy, Turning To Gold All It Touches And Tries?

How Many A Thing Which We Cast To The Ground, When Others Pick It Up, Becomes A Gem!