My Verse Has Brought Me No Roubles

In The Church Of My Heart The Choir Is On Fire

In Our Language Rhyme Is A Barrel. A Barrel Of Dynamite. The Line Is A Fuse. The Line Smoulders To The End And Explodes; And The Town Is Blown Sky-high In A Stanza.

There’s No Grandfatherly Fondness In Me, There Are No Gray Hairs In My Soul! Shaking The World With My Voice And Grinning, I Pass You By, - Handsome, Twentytwoyearold.

The Love Boat Has Crashed Against The Everyday.

My Verse Has Brought Me No Roubles To Spare: No Craftsmen Have Made Mahogany Chairs For My House.