There Is No Truth. Only Points Of

All Great Poetry Is Dipped In The Dyes Of The Heart.

By 'happiness' I Do Not Mean Worldly Success Or Outside Approval, Though It Would Be Priggish To Deny That Both These Things Are Most Agreeable. I Mean The Inner Consciousness, The Inner Conviction That One Is Doing Well The Thing That One Is Best Fitted To Do By Nature.

As For The Usefulness Of Poetry, Its Uses Are Many. It Is The Deification Of Reality. It Should Make Our Days Holy To Us. The Poet Should Speak To All Men, For A Moment, Of That Other Life Of Theirs That They Have Smothered And Forgotten.

Still Falls The Rain - Dark As The World Of Man, Black As Our Loss - Blind As The Nineteen Hundred And Forty Nails Upon The Cross.

The Child And The Great Artist -- These Alone Receive The Sensation Fresh As It Was At The Beginning Of The World.