I do not dance enough.
I do not run naked in the rain.
I do not scream like a kettle’s whistle
At all the pressured pain.
I do not talk to strangers,
Or draw yellow angels in the snow.
I do not curse the cursed,
Or tell the stupid what they should know.
I wear well the pompous silence
Of the just and staid and nobly sad.
I will stew in this complete rationality
Until I go quite mad.