Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away / You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
Like a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting.
I hate the idea that you ought to read the whole of anybody.
And nothing to look backward to with pride, and nothing to look forward to with hope.
I always entertain great hopes.
You can be a rank insider as well as a rank outsider.