I Do Not Wish To Be A

A Cruel Story Runs On Wheels, And Every Hand Oils The Wheels As They Run.

There Is No Applause That So Flatters A Man As That Which He Wrings From Unwilling Throats.

Genius Scorns The Power Of Gold: It Is Wrong. Gold Is The War-scythe On Its Chariot, Which Mows Down The Millions Of Its Foes, And Gives Free Passage To The Sun-coursers With Which It Leaves Those Heavenly Fields Of Light For The Gross Battlefields Of Earth.

The Heart Of Silver Falls Ever Into The Hands Of Brass. The Sensitive Herb Is Eaten As Grass By The Swine.

Indifference Is The Invincible Grant Of The World.