The world is charged with the grandeur of God. It will flame out like shining from shook foil… Generations have trod, have trod, have trod; And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil.
I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till I drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.
