Many feverent souls
Strike rhyme on rhyme, who would strike steel on steel
If steel had offered, in a restless heat
Of doing something. Many tender souls
Have strung their losses on a rhyming thread,
As children, cowslips: - the more pains they take,
The work more withers. Young men, ay, and maids,
Too often sow their wild oats in tame verse,
Before they sit down under their own vine
And live for use. Alas, near all the birds
Will sing at dawn, - and yet we do not take
The chaffering swallow for the holy lark.
I wonder if this applies to me. Do I only feel the need to create because it is one of the things close to hand right now or is it really a necessity for me? I think ad hope that the latter is true. I do not aspire to be an Artist to the extent that she speaks of artists but my dabbling I believe has more to it than a slight fancy and convenience. Time will tell, I suppose.
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