Nine-tenths Of English Poetic Literature Is The

About This Business Of Being A Gentleman: I Paid So Heavily For The Fourteen Years Of My Gentleman's Education That I Feel Entitled, Now And Then, To Get Some Sort Of Return.

Fact Is Not Truth, But A Poet Who Wilfully Defies Fact Cannot Achieve Truth.

No Poem Is Worth Anything Unless It Starts From A Poetic Trance, Out Of Which You Can Be Wakened By Interruption As From A Dream. In Fact, It Is The Same Thing.

Myths Are Seldom Simple, And Never Irresponsible.

The Sap Of Spring In The Young Wood A-stir Will Celebrate With Green The Mother, And Every Song-bird Shout Awhile For Her; But We Are Gifted, Even In November Rawest Of Seasons, With So Huge A Sense Of Her Nakedly Worn Magnificence We Forget Cruelty And Past Betrayal, Heedless Of Where The Next Bright Bolt May Fall.