I celebrate myself, I sing myself,
For life's occasions I am deals
My future manuscripts shall exist as more:
Why, they are meant to be felt!
In a crowd of hands held, and heads hung, and hearts heavy,
I will succumb to a throng of theatrical individuality.
I am Howard Roark.
Unbound by limits, I will build a skyscraper of brilliant works.
The paint upon my easels cries forth a magnificent yawp!
And just as such, my appalling resolve should frighten Ahab himself!
Stand me upon the worst of times,
And watch that I should storm the Bastille of denunciation!
This too too solid flesh it melts with ingenious desire,
A craving for piano keys, and chords that strike in tune,
I will be a modernistic Mozart do recall my nom de plume!
For although the harking of darkness may seem a slight obstruction,
I am in concurrence with Donne that faith dies not; a true deduction!
I will choose the road not taken, and swing the birches of success:
A pianist, a painter, a storybook-maker, aglow with clever design,
As well as all else that comes to my mind!
I challenge myself, and urge myself lest all of us should,
We shall cause the silver bells, wedding bells,
Alarum bells, iron bells,
To convey our fruitful stories as each one of them knells!
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