Let it be wild and uncontrolled!
Consider not whether it passes muster
In the logic-schools,
Or marks time with the monotonous regularity
Of clopping hooves of horses on parade,
Or, God forbid, it RHYMES,
Like men in olden times,
But sing as wild and mystical
As the sybil at Cumae!
Pluck down “whirling words” from some madding love divine
Up there in the farthest reaches of high heaven!
I am schizophrenic. Do the last two lines mean anything? I don’t know. I really don’t know!
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Mad in America hosts blogs by a diverse group of writers. These posts are designed to serve as a public forum for a discussion—broadly speaking—of psychiatry and its treatments. The opinions expressed are the writers’ own.
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