I too, dislike it: some things are important beyond all this fiddle.
Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one discovers that there is in
it, after all, is a place for the genuine.
Hands that can grasp, eyes
that can dilate, hair that can rise
if it must, these things are important not because a

high-sounding interpretation can be put upon them but because they are
useful; when they become so derivative as to become unintelligible, the
the same thing may be said for all of us—that we
do not admire what
we cannot understand. The bat,
holding on upside down or in quest of...