I Don't Think Auden Liked My Poetry

So I Fancy My Muse Says, When I Wish To Die, Oh No, Oh No, We Are Not Yet Friends Enough, And Virtue Also Says: We Are Not Yet Friends Enough.

It Is The Privilege Of The Rich To Waste The Time Of The Poor To Water With Tears In Secret A Tree That Grows In Secret That Bears Fruit In Secret That Ripened Falls To The Ground In Secret And Manures The Parent Tree Oh The Wicked Tree Of Hatred And The Secret The Sap Rising And The Tears Falling.

This Englishwoman Is So Refined, She Has No Bosom And No Behind.

Unpopular, Lonely And Loving, Elinor Need Not Trouble, For If She Were Not So Loving, She Would Not Be So Miserable.

Oh Lion In A Peculiar Guise, Sharp Roman Road To Paradise, Come Eat Me Up, I'll Pay Thy Toll With All My Flesh, And Keep My Soul.