Horrible To Say, In A Manner I

It Kills Me To Be Time's Eunuch And Never To Beget.

When I Compare Myself, My Being-myself, With Anything Else Whatever, All Things Alike, All In The Same Degree, Rebuff Me With Blank Unlikeness.

Elected Silence, Sing To Me And Beat Upon My Whorlèd Ear, Pipe Me To Pastures Still And Be The Music That I Care To Hear.

God?is So Great That All Things Give Him Glory If You Mean They Should.

Do You Know, A Horrible Thing Has Happened To Me. I Have Begun To Doubt Tennyson.