Old Environment

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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.

© Franklin Pierce Adams