Let All The Poison That Lurks In

Love Is A Universal Migraine. A Bright Stain On The Vision, Blotting Out Reason.

The Award Of A Pure Gold Medal For Poetry Would Flatter The Recipient Unduly: No Poem Ever Attains Such Carat Purity.

To Be A Poet Is A Condition Rather Than A Profession.

Through The Window I Can See Rooks Above The Cherry-tree, Sparrows In The Violet Bed, Bramble-bush And Bumble-bee, And Old Red Bracken Smoulders Still Among Boulders On The Hill, Far Too Bright To Seem Quite Dead. But Old Death, Who Can't Forget, Waits His Time And Watches Yet, Waits And Watches By The Door.

I Believe That Every English Poet Should Read The English Classics, Master The Rules Of Grammar Before He Attempts To Bend Or Break Them, Travel Abroad, Experience The Horrors Of Sordid Passion, And - If He Is Lucky Enough - Know The Love Of An Honest Woman.