Stone, Steel, Dominions Pass, Faith Too, No

Loveliest Of Trees, The Cherry Now Is Hung With Bloom Along The Bough.

Housman Is One Of My Heroes And Always Has Been. He Was A Detestable And Miserable Man. Arrogant, Unspeakably Lonely, Cruel, And So On, But And Absolutely Marvellous Minor Poet, I Think, And A Great Scholar.

I Think That To Transfuse Emotion - Not To Transmit Thought But To Set Up In The Reader's Sense A Vibration Corresponding To What Was Felt By The Writer - Is The Peculiar Function Of Poetry.

And How Am I To Face The Odds Of Man's Bedevilment And God's? I, A Stranger And Afraid In A World I Never Made.

This Is For All Ill-treated Fellows Unborn And Unbegot, For Them To Read When They're In Trouble And I Am Not.