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.