An Hour's Terror Is Better Than A

Dobbin At Manger Pulls His Hay: Gone Is Another Summer's Day.

All Day Long The Door Of The Sub-conscious Remains Just Ajar; We Slip Through To The Other Side, And Return Again, As Easily And Secretly As A Cat.

Without Imagination Of The One Kind Or Of The Other, Mortal Existence Is Indeed A Dreary And Prosaic Business... Illumined By The Imagination, Our Life, Whatever Its Defeats - Is A Never-ending Unforeseen Strangeness And Adventure And Mystery.

His Are The Quiet Steeps Of Dreamland, The Waters Of No-more-pain; His Ram's Bell Rings 'neath An Arch Of Stars, "rest, Rest, And Rest Again.

Do Diddle Di Do, Poor Jim Jay Got Stuck Fast In Yesterday.