Salutation the third.

Perhaps I will die at thirty,
Perhaps you will have the pleasure
of defiling my pauper's grave,
I wish you joy. I proffer you all my assistance,
It has been your habit for long
to do away with true poets,
You either drive them mad
or else you blink at their suicides,
Or you condone their drugs
and talk of ' insanity and genius'.

But I will not go mad to please you,
I will not flatter you with an early death.
Oh, No! I will stick it out.
I will feel your hates wriggling about my feet,
And I shall laugh at you and mock you,
And I will offer you consolations in irony,
0 fools, detesters of beauty.

Salutation the third .

I have seen many who go about with supplications
Afraid to say how they hate you .
Here is the taste of my boot .
Caress it ! Lap off the blacking !

MONUMENTUM AERE etc.

You say that I take a good deal upon myself ;
That I strut in the robes of assumption .

In a few years no one will remember the ' buffo ' ,
No one will remember the trivial parts of me ,
The comic detail will not be present .

As for you , you will lie in the earth ,
And it is doubtful if even your manure will be rich enough
To keep grass over your grave .

## Fratres Minores

With minds still hovering about their testacles,
Certain poets here and in France
Still sigh over established and natural fact
Long since fully discussed by Ovid.

~~they howl.~~ They complain in delicate and exhausted metres
That the twitching of three abdominal nerves
Is incapable of producing a lasting Nirvana.