[BNP/E3, 79 – 12]

I’m mad, they say. I’m mad, I know it well

Fully I know it and it doth not need

That men with words of scorn to me should tell

That which I know. For too long did I feed

On food to men most strange. My soul did read

In books where men are powerless to know

The accents wild. The intractable steed

By human force, I have controlled

{…} woe.

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