March 2010
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To be human is to keep rattling the bars of the cage of existence, hollering,...
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I laid me down upon a bank, Where Love lay sleeping; I heard among the rushes dank Weeping, weeping.
Then I went to the heath and the wild, To the thistles and thorns of the waste; And they told me how they were beguiled, Driven out, and compelled to the chaste.
I went to the Garden of Love, And saw what I never had seen; A Chapel was built in the midst, Where I used to play on the...
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Some men, faint-hearted, ever seek
Our programme to retouch,
And will insist,...