As I go through the fields, endeavoring to recover my tone and sanity and to perceive things truly and simply again, after having been perambulating the bounds of the town all week, and dealing with the most commonplace and worldly-minded men, and emphatically trivial things, I feel as I had committed suicide in a sense. I am again forcibly struck with the truth of the fable of Apollo serving King Admetus, its universal applicability. A fatal coarseness is the result of mixing in the trivial affairs of men. Though I have been associating even with the select men of this and the surrounding towns, I feel inexpressibly begrimed. My Pegasus has lost his wings; he has turned a reptile and gone on his belly. Such things are compatible only with a cheap and superficial life.
The poet must keep himself unstained and aloof. Let him perambulate the bounds of Imagination’s provinces, the realm of faery, and not the insignificant boundaries of towns. The excursions of the imagination are so boundless, the limits of the town so petty.
1 comment:
most of the affairs of men are so trivial but have the impotence of a mother thinking the world will come to an end over a lost shoe or a child 2 minutes late!... we worry over such stupid things and pay no or little heed to the important things!, imagine if we had lists and you only had things to and things not to worry about!? the people would go insane not being able to cry and wail over a lost shoe! michael jameson oldantiqueguy@hotmail.com
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