I wish I could descend From off this stage,And find an end,A grateful haven from this rage Of this drunk, blindly careless age ;From the row of this mad, hurried universe That cares more for carburettors than for poets,And seem to slide on down from worse to worseOblivious of the sageAnd noble names That strive to keep it from the depth less curse Of meaningless enjoyment.
-Richard Spender
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