Let us quarrel for these reasons:
You detest the salt which seasons.
My speech. . and all my lights go out
In the cold poison of your doubt.
I love Shelley. . you love Keats
Something parts and something meets.
I love salads. . you love chops;
Something goes and something stops.
Something hides its face and cries;
Something shivers; something dies.
I love blue ribbons brought from fairs;
You love sitting splitting hairs.
I love truth, and so do you. .
Tell me, is it truly true?