Luyện nghe bài hát On Artistic Integrity

I toe the of self-indulgence
Every time I my pen
the page and form the words
I felt but show 'til then
And to I beg the question
Why do I thus
As one to one and to
else? If I, afraid
Of what the of stating
my cause might be,
When I rant and rhyme and
Do I write for or me?
I believe there is some
In creating for self
But why place the public
is best left on the shelf?
Though while I write I do not feel
I pen is mine alone,
Even could be misguided
As are I have known
Who swore, poor souls, that possessed
The key to mysterious fate,
in convincing some,
But most tell they did but prate
On subjects something vague
cannot be unproven, or,
In place of content, in tongues
Yet know not whom they're for.
No, I am not so;
I do not I represent
Some force divine, but still I
I shall never be content
To my tongue when I would speak
Or my words to suit the hour
Or pinch a upon my cheek
To my joy at love gone sour.
I do not to disappoint
The faith that place in me
To lead the way to days,
But dark is all I see.
I for good, I toil for hope,
No one can my intent
But even those who listen
Can often what I meant.
My fear, I've to realize,
Is this: that I am wrong,
That my is askew,
That I shyte and call it song.
Perhaps I'll question thus,
Discount my merits, thoughts, and
well, long as I still go forth
And see this, my vision, leads.
is she who knows her mind
And it though she may not please.
Fortunate the
That such honest thoughts as these.