Poetry, Even When Apparently Most Fantastic, Is

(...) You Cruel Creature, Little Mite Of A Thing With A Heart The Size Of A Fullstop.

The Mouth Can Be Better Engaged Than With A Cylinder Of Rank Weed.

And When All Was Said And Done The Lies A Fellow Told About Himself Couldn't Probably Hold A Proverbial Candle To The Wholesale Whoppers Other Fellows Coined About Him.

The Supreme Question About A Work Of Art Is Out Of How Deep A Life Does It Spring. Paintings Of Moreau Are Paintings Of Ideas. The Deepest Poetry Of Shelley, The Words Of Hamlet Bring Our Mind Into Contact With The Eternal Wisdom; Plato's World Of Ideas. All The Rest Is The Speculation Of Schoolboys For Schoolboys.

Time's Ruins Build Eternity's Mansions.