I used to think that this environ- Ment talk was all a lot of guff; Place mattered not with Keats and Byron Stuff. If I have thoughts that need disclosing, Bright be the day or hung with gloom, I'll write in Heaven or the composing- Room. Times are when with my nerves a-tingle, Joyous and bright the songs I sing; Though, gay, I can't dope out a single Thing. And yet, by way of illustration, The gods my graying head annoint . . . I wrote this piece at Inspiration point.