When The Poet Makes His Perfect Selection

There Can Be No Proof That Blake's Lyric Is Composed Of The Best Words In The Best Order; Only A Conviction, Accepted By Our Knowledge And Judgment, That It Is So.

So It Is In Poetry. All We Ask Is That The Mood Recorded Shall Impress Us As Having Been Of The Kind That Exhausts The Imaginative Capacity; If It Fails To Do This The Failure Will Announce Itself Either In Prose Or In Insignificant Verse.

The Musician - If He Be A Good One - Finds His Own Perception Prompted By The Poet's Perception, And He Translates The Expression Of That Perception From The Terms Of Poetry Into The Terms Of Music.

We Recognise In The Finished Art, Which Is The Result Of These Conditions, The Best Words In The Best Order - Poetry; And To Put This Essential Poetry Into Different Classes Is Impossible.

In The Corridors Under Tehre Is Nothing But Sleep. And Stiller Than Ever On Orchard Boughs They Keep Tryst With The Moon, And Deep Is The Silence, Deep On Moon-washed Apples Of Wonder.