Well, We've Been Lucky Devils Both And

Every English Poet Should Master The Rules Of Grammar Before He Attempts To Bend Or Break Them.

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

I Do Not Love The Sabbath, The Soapsuds And The Starch, The Troops Of Solemn People Who To Salvation March. I Take My Book, I Take My Stick On The Sabbath Day, In Woody Nooks And Valleys I Hide Myself Away. To Ponder There In Quiet God's Universal Plan, Resolved That Church And Sabbath Were Never Made For Man.

There Should Be Two Main Objectives In Ordinary Prose Writing: To Convey A Message And To Include In It Nothing That Will Distract The Reader's Attention Or Check His Habitual Pace Of Reading - He Should Feel That He Is Seated At Ease In A Taxi, Not Riding A Temperamental Horse Through Traffic.

Haunted Gulp Down Your Wine, Old Friends Of Mine, Roar Through The Darkness, Stamp And Sing And Lay Ghost Hands On Everything, But Leave The Noonday's Warm Sunshine To Living Lads For Mirth And Wine. I Met You Suddenly Down The Street, Strangers Assume Your Phantom Faces, You Grin At Me From Daylight Places, Dead, Long Dead, I'm Ashamed To Greet Dead Men Down The Morning Street.