The Written Word Is Everything.

The Musician - If He Be A Good One - Finds His Own Perception Prompted By The Poet's Perception, And He Translates The Expression Of That Perception From The Terms Of Poetry Into The Terms Of Music.

When You Defile The Pleasant Streams, And The Wild Bird's Abiding Place, You Massacre A Million Dreams, And Cast Your Spittle In God's Face

In The Corridors Under Tehre Is Nothing But Sleep. And Stiller Than Ever On Orchard Boughs They Keep Tryst With The Moon, And Deep Is The Silence, Deep On Moon-washed Apples Of Wonder.

There Can Be No Proof That Blake's Lyric Is Composed Of The Best Words In The Best Order; Only A Conviction, Accepted By Our Knowledge And Judgment, That It Is So.

It Is Commonly Asserted And Accepted That Paradise Lost Is Among The Two Or Three Greatest English Poems; It May Justly Be Taken As The Type Of Supreme Poetic Achievement In Our Literature.