“Myself I must remake.”

“I would spread the cloths under your feet:But I, being poor, have only my dreams;I have spread my dreams under your feet;Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”

“Now that my ladder's gone,I must lie down where all my ladders start,In the foul rag-and-bone shop of the heart.”

“The kings of the old time are dead;The wandering earth herself may beOnly a sudden flaming word,In clanging space a moment heard,Troubling the endless reverie.”

“Even the wisest man grows tense/with some sort of violence/before he can accomplish fate,/know his work or choose his mate.”

“IIIThose masterful images because completeGrew in pure mind, but out of what began?A mound of refuse or the sweepings of a street,Old kettles, old bottles, and a broken can,Old iron, old bones, old rags, that raving slutWho keeps the till. Now that my ladder's gone,I must lie down where all the ladders startIn the foul rag and bone shop of the heart.”

“...Those masterful images because completeGrew in pure mind, but out of what began?A mound of refuse or the sweepings of a street,Old kettles, old bottles, and a broken can,Old iron, old bones, old rags, that raving slutWho keeps the till. Now that my ladder's gone,I must lie down where all the ladders startIn the foul rag and bone shop of the heart.”