I would rather look at the extant world

With unvarnished eyes, and let it wound me,

Than settle softly in dishonest sentimentality.

However, although I see variegated realities, I still choose favorites.

This: the maple tree on the river.

The river feeds like a thread through

its predetermined route, and seems solid as I: which is not very.

But we share sunlight and an open sky.

I would rather watch the world than comment on it;

I have no plans for its improvement, except for that improvement

Continually made by the sun

when it refuses to yield its seat of power to ambitious men.

Gold-miners age early and lose themselves in the strain of the chase.

I would rather dig ditches.