THE FASCINATION OF WHAT'S DIFFICULT
 
 THE fascination of what's difficult
 Has dried the sap out of my veins, and rent
 Spontaneous joy and natural content
 Out of my heart.  There's something ails our colt
 That must, as if it had not holy blood
 Nor on Olympus leaped from cloud to cloud,
 Shiver under the lash, strain, sweat and jolt
 As though it dragged road-metal.  My curse on plays
 That have to be set up in fifty ways,
 On the day's war with every knave and dolt,
 Theatre business, management of men.
 I swear before the dawn comes round again
 I'll find the stable and pull out the bolt.