The desires of the heart are as crooked as corkscrews.

God may reduce you on Judgment Day to tears of shame, reciting by heart the poems you would have written, had your life been good.

You shall love your crooked neighbour, with your crooked heart.

Follow, poet, follow right To the bottom of the night, With your unconstraining voice Still persuade us to rejoice; With the farming of a verse Make a vineyard of the curse, Sing of human unsuccess In a rapture of distress; In the deserts of the heart Let the healing fountain start, In the prison of his days Teach the free man how to praise.