It is the spring morning without benefit of young persons.
It is the sky that has never registered weeping or
rebellion.
It is the forest full of innocent beasts. There are none who
blush at the memory of an ancient folly, none who hide
beneath dyed fabrics a malicious heart.
It is America, but not yet.
Wanted. Disturbers of public order, men without foresight
or fear.
Wanted. Energetic madmen. Those who have thought
themselves a body large enough to devour their
dreams.
Wanted. The lost. Those indestructibles whom defeat can
never change. Poets of the bottle. Clergymen of a
ridiculous gospel, actors who should have been
engineers and lawyers who should have been sea
captains. Saints of circumstance, desperados,
unsuccessful wanderers, all who can hear the
invitation of the earth. America, youngest of her
daughters, awaits the barbarians of marriage.
-- W.H. Auden, from the libretto of Benjamin Britten's opera Paul Bunyan.
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