Luck's A Chance, But Trouble's Sure.

Life, To Be Sure, Is Nothing Much To Lose, But Young Men Think It Is, And We Were Young.

Loveliest Of Trees, The Cherry Now Is Hung With Bloom Along The Bough, And Stands About The Woodland Ride Wearing White For Eastertide. Now, Of My Threescore Years And Ten, Twenty Will Not Come Again, And Take From Seventy Springs A Score, It Only Leaves Me Fifty More. And Since To Look At Things In Bloom Fifty Springs Are Little Room, About The Woodlands I Will Go To See The Cherry Hung With Snow.

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.

Tell Me Not Here, It Needs Not Saying, What Tune The Enchantress Plays In Aftermaths Of Soft September Or Under Blanching Mays, For She And I Were Long Acquainted And I Knew All Her Ways.

Nature, Not Content With Denying Him The Ability To Think, Has Endowed Him With The Ability To Write.