When love's well-timed 'tis not a fault to love; The strong, the brave, the virtuous, and the wise, Sink in the soft captivity together.
I think human society for tens of thousands of years has sent young men out in small groups to do things that are necessary but very dangerous. And they've always gotten killed doing it. And they've always turned it into a matter of honor and a way of gaining acceptance back into society if they survived.
There is one purpose to life and one only: to bear witness to and understand as much as possible of the complexity of the world - its beauty, its mysteries, its riddles. The more you understand, the more you look, the greater is your enjoyment of life and your sense of peace. That's all there is to it. If an activity is not grounded in 'to love' or 'to learn,' it does not have value.
I wrote a poem to the moon But no one noticed it;Although I hoped that late or soonSomeone would praise a bitIts purity and grace forlone,Its beauty tulip-cool...But as my poem died still-born,I felt a fool.I wrote a verse of vulgar trendSpiced with an oath or two;I tacked a snapper at the endAnd called it Dan McGrew.I spouted it to bar-room boys,Full fifty years away;Yet still with rude and ribald noiseIt lives today.'Tis bitter truth, but there you are-That's how a name is made;Write of a rose, a lark, a star,You'll never make the grade.But write of gutter and of grime,Of pimp and prostitute,The multitude will read your rhyme,And pay to boot.So what's the use to burn and bleedAnd strive for beauty's sake?No one your poetry will read,Your heart will only break.But set your song in vulgar pitch,If rhyme you will not rue,And make your heroine a bitch...Like Lady Lou.