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Poem	I would not paint -- a picture -- I'd rather be the One Its bright impossibility To dwell -- delicious -- on -- And wonder how the fingers feel Whose rare -- celestial -- stir -- Evokes so sweet a Torment -- Such sumptuous -- Despair -- I would not talk, like Cornets -- I'd rather be the One Raised softly to the Ceilings -- And out, and easy on -- Through Villages of Ether -- Myself endued Balloon By but a lip of Metal -- The pier to my Pontoon -- Nor would I be a Poet -- It's finer -- own the Ear -- Enamored -- impotent -- content -- The License to revere, A privilege so awful What would the Dower be, Had I the Art to stun myself With Bolts of Melody!
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