The Cartesian post-modernist wont get much dividends from the sinking entrepreneur who is scrubbing the residues of his intellect to feed the ailing soul.The authorial self doesn't seem to be dis/content with the ontological interrogations that a contrapuntal deciphering of the images and structures of human existence warrants.By and large, your reading of the poem reminds me a pre-industrial Romantic :
"My own voice cheered me, and-far more- the mind's internal echo of the imperfect sound. To both i listened, drawing from them both a cheerful confidence in things to come."
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The Cartesian post-modernist wont get much dividends from the sinking entrepreneur who is scrubbing the residues of his intellect to feed the ailing soul.The authorial self doesn't seem to be dis/content with the ontological interrogations that a contrapuntal deciphering of the images and structures of human existence warrants.By and large, your reading of the poem reminds me a pre-industrial Romantic :
"My own voice cheered me, and-far more- the mind's
internal echo of the imperfect sound.
To both i listened, drawing from them both
a cheerful confidence in things to come."
in our country, mans are shitting thru the anal hole. but in your country these gentle menons are shitting through blog.
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