Homer is my example and his unchristened heart.
Only the wasteful virtues earn the sun.
Things fall apart; the center cannot hold.
Everything exists, everything is true and the earth is just a bit of dust beneath our feet.
The true poet is all the time a visionary and whether with friends or not, as much alone as a man on his death bed.
Consume my heart away, sick with desire And fastened to a dying animal It knows not what it is, and gather me Into the artifice of eternity.