THE SPIRIT MEDIUM
 
 POETRY, music, I have loved, and yet
 Because of those new dead
 That come into my soul and escape
 Confusion of the bed,
 Or those begotten or unbegotten
 Perning in a band,
 <1I bend my body to the spade
 Or grope with a dirty hand.>1
 Or those begotten or unbegotten,
 For I would not recall
 Some that being unbegotten
 Are not individual,
 But copy some one action,
 Moulding it of dust or sand,
 <1I bend my body to the spade
 Or grope with a dirty hand.>1
 An old ghost's thoughts are lightning,
 To follow is to die;
 Poetry and music I have banished,
 But the stupidity
 Of root, shoot, blossom or clay
 Makes no demand.
 <1I bend my body to the spade
 Or grope with a dirty hand.>1