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Let poetry be like a key Opening a thousand doors A leaf falls; something flies by; Let all the eye sees be created And the soul of the listener tremble. Invent new worlds and watch your word; The adjective, when it doesn’t give life, kills it. We are in the age of nerves. The muscle hangs, Like a memory, in museums; But we are not the weaker for it: True vigor Resides in the head. Oh Poets, why sing of roses! Let them flower in your poems; For us alone Do all things live beneath the Sun. The poet is a little God.