Even Pain Pricks To Livelier Living.

This Is America, This Vast, Confused Beauty, This Staring, Restless Speed Of Loveliness, Mighty, Overwhelming, Crude, Of All Forms, Making Grandeur Out Of Profusion, Afraid Of No Incongruities, Sublime In Its Audacity, Bizarre Breaker Of Moulds.

Can You See Through The Night, Woman, That You Stare So Upon It? Man, What Sparks Do Your Eyes Follow In The Smouldering Darkness?

Not A Softness Anywhere About Me, Only Whalebone And Brocade.

Witches Are Moon-birds, Witches Are The Women Of The False, Beautiful Moon.

Time! Joyless Emblem Of The Greed Of Millions, Robber Of The Best Which Earth Can Give.