Dear old Willie Butler Yeats has a poem about this sort of thing, h:
‘I made my song a coat,
Covered with embroideries,
Out of old mythologies.
From heel to throat.
But the fools caught it.
Wore it in the world’s eyes as though they’d wrought it.
Fools, let them take it.
For there’s more enterprise in walking naked.’
Originally Posted by Burney
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