Contrast Is The Dramatist's Method.

How Beautiful Are Dreams! In Dreams The Dead May Live, Even The Long Dead And The Very Silent.

Then I Perceived, What I Had Never Thought, That All These Staring Houses Were Not Alike, But Different One From Another, Because They Held Different Dreams.

And At That Moment A Wind Came Out Of The Northwest, And Entered The Woods And Bared The Golden Branches, And Danced Over The Downs, And Led A Company Of Scarlet And Golden Leaves, That Had Dreaded This Day But Danced Now It Had Come; And Away With A Riot Of Dancing And Glory Of Colour, High In The Light Of The Sun That Had Set From The Sight Of The Fields, Went Wind And Leaves Together.

A Man Is A Very Small Thing, And The Night Is Very Large And Full Of Wonders.

Modern Poets Are Bells Of Lead. They Should Tinkle Melodiously But Usually They Just Klunk.