I Grow Old … I

Dante And Shakespeare Divide The World Between Them. There Is No Third.

The End Is In The Beginning.

And They Write Innumerable Books; Being Too Vain And Distracted For Silence: Seeking Every One After His Own Elevation, And Dodging His Emptiness.

So The Darkness Shall Be The Light, And The Stillness The Dancing.

To Country People Cows Are Mild, And Flee From Any Stick They Throw; But I’m A Timid Town Bred Child, And All The Cattle Seem To Know.