Jan. 22

He, facing a screen, in a blank state,

Knowing higher glory & grander fate,

Yet with baser pleasure does mate.

Horrible habitual agent,

Turns him into dust that

Worms care not to eat.

Now here comes a poet.

Gentle songs chanting forth,

The veil of things does lift.

Light flies into his heart,

Diminishing the fallen mask,

Enlivening its dying beat.

This, is the power of art.