I used to think that this environ-
Ment talk was all a lot of guff;
Place mattered not with Keats and Byron
If I have thoughts that need disclosing,
Bright be the day or hung with gloom,
I'll write in Heaven or the composing-
Times are when with my nerves a-tingle,
Joyous and bright the songs I sing;
Though, gay, I can't dope out a single
And yet, by way of illustration,
The gods my graying head annoint . . .
I wrote this piece at Inspiration
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