Faults In English Prose Derive Not So

The Difference Between You And Her (whom I To You Did Once Prefer) Is Clear Enough To Settle: She Like A Diamond Shone, But You Shine Like An Early Drop Of Dew Poised On A Red Rose Petal. The Dew-drop Carries In Its Eye Mountain And Forest, Sea And Sky, With Every Change Of Weather; Contrariwise, A Diamond Splits The Prospect Into Idle Bits That None Can Piece Together.

Genius Not Only Diagnoses The Situation But Supplies The Answers.

If I Were A Girl, I'd Despair. The Supply Of Good Women Far Exceeds That Of The Men Who Deserve Them.

Kaisers And Czars Will Strut The Stage Once More With Pomp And Greed And Rage; Courtly Ministers Will Stop At Home And Fight To The Last Drop; By The Million Men Will Die In Some New Horrible Agony.

The Function Of Poetry Is Religious Invocation Of The Muse; Its Use Is The Experience Of Mixed Exaltation And Horror That Her Presence Excites.