A letter about of the (putas) sad truths of circus The myth called circus “Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous form of things:— We murder to dissect.” Dear circus artists, The above lines from William Wordsworth’s poem The Tables Turned are a striking expression of a number of the central elements of Romanticism: a penchant for the mysterious, the glorification of nature and the unknown, and an accompanying aversion toward in