He Who Pretends To Be Either Painter

One Power Alone Makes A Poet: Imagination. The Divine Vision.

Art Degraded, Imagination Denied.

I Turn My Eyes To The Schools & Universities Of Europe And There Behold The Loom Of Locke Whose Woof Rages Dire, Washed By The Water-wheels Of Newton. Black The Cloth In Heavy Wreaths Folds Over Every Nation; Cruel Works Of Many Wheels I View, Wheel Without Wheel, With Cogs Tyrannic Moving By Compulsion Each Other: Not As Those In Eden, Which Wheel Within Wheel In Freedom Revolve, In Harmony & Peace.

God Keep Me From The Divinity Of Yes And Nothe Yea Nay Creeping Jesus, From Supposing Up And Down To Be The Same Thing As Allexperimentalists Must Suppose.

Bring Me My Bow Of Burning Gold: Bring Me My Arrows Of Desire: Bring Me My Spear: O Clouds, Unfold! Bring Me My Chariot Of Fire.