If A Poet Is Anybody, He Is

I Spill My Bright Incalculable Soul

And It's You Are Whatever A Moon Has Always Meant And Whatever A Sun Will Always Sing Is You

Who Knows If The Moon's A Balloon,coming Out Of A Keen City In The Sky--filled With Pretty People? ( And If You And I Should Get Into It,if They Should Take Me And Take You Into Their Balloon, Why Then We'd Go Up Higher With All The Pretty People Than Houses And Steeples And Clouds: Go Sailing Away And Away Sailing Into A Keen City Which Nobody's Ever Visited,where Always It's Spring)and Everyone's In Love And Flowers Pick Themselves

They Believe In Christ And Longfellow, Both Dead

So Far As I Am Concerned, Poetry And Every Other Art Was, Is, And Forever Will Be Strictly And Distinctly A Question Of Individuality.