Poet: Lead me rather to the quiet nook that is my heaven,
the only place where a poet can be happy
and can cultivate his precious gift among those who love and cherish him.
The verses, good or bad, that spring to his lips from deep within him
are crowded out n the rough-and-tumble of the day.
You have to wait for years to see them in their true light.
Showy things are just meant for the moment,
but whatever is really good comes through to posterity.
Goethe, Faust
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