my own poem, it is when I long for and adore my commonplace life whereto I hasten back. I am the lover of material order; that love grows enriched from the fact of my having the most poetical moment which, as I said before, is so dear that I hate it. Oh, let me hate and hate Poetry, because to hate it is to love it again. Oh, let me make my commonplace life important; it is, is it not, that to make it important is to make my own life important?
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