I Find Cambridge An Asylum, In Every

June Suns, You Cannot Store Them To Warm The Winter's Cold, The Lad That Hopes For Heaven Shall Fill His Mouth With Mould.

I Am Not A Pessimist But A Pejorist (as George Eliot Said She Was Not An Optimist But A Meliorist); And That Philosophy Is Founded On My Observation Of The World, Not On Anything So Trivial And Irrelevant As Personal History.

Do Not Ever Read Books About Versification: No Poet Ever Learnt It That Way. If You Are Going To Be A Poet, It Will Come To You Naturally And You Will Pick Up All You Need From Reading Poetry.

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

Strapped, Noosed, Nighing His Hour, He Stood And Counted Them And Cursed His Luck; And Then The Clock Collected In The Tower Its Strength, And Struck.