Fact Is Not Truth, But A Poet

A Perfect Poem Is Impossible. Once It Had Been Written, The World Would End. Immature Poets Imitate; Mature Poets Steal.

Well, We've Been Lucky Devils Both And There Is No Need For A Pledge Or Oath To Bind Our Lovely Friendship Fast, By Firmer Stuff Close Bound Enough.

Patriotism, In The Trenches, Was Too Remote A Sentiment, And At Once Rejected As Fit Only For Civilians, Or Prisoners. A New Arrival Who Talked Patriotism Would Soon Be Told To Cut It Out.

I Was Last In Rome In Ad 540 When It Was Full Of Goths And Their Heavy Horses. It Has Changed A Great Deal Since Then.

As Was The Custom In Such Cases, The Pear Tree Was Charged With Murder And Sentenced To Be Uprooted And Burned.