Let us quarrel for these reasons: <br />You detest the salt which seasons <br />My speech . . . and all my lights go out <br />In the cold poison of your doubt. <br />I love Shelley . . . you love Keats <br />Something parts and something meets. <br />I love salads . . . you love chops; <br />Something goes and something stops. <br />Something hides its face and cries; <br />Something shivers; something dies. <br />I love blue ribbons brought from fairs; <br />You love sitting splitting hairs. <br />I love truth, and so do you . . . <br />Tell me, is it truly true?<br /><br />Elinor Morton Wylie<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/quarrel/
