A Perfect Poem Is Impossible.

Children Born Of Fairy Stock Never Need For Shirt Or Frock, Never Want For Food Or Fire, Always Get Their Heart's Desire.

I Revise The Manuscript Till I Can't Read It Any Longer, Then I Get Somebody To Type It. Then I Revise The Typing. Then It's Retyped Again. Then There's A Third Typing, Which Is The Final One. Nothing Should Then Remain That Offends The Eye.

I Believe That Every English Poet Should Read The English Classics, Master The Rules Of Grammar Before He Attempts To Bend Or Break Them, Travel Abroad, Experience The Horrors Of Sordid Passion, And - If He Is Lucky Enough - Know The Love Of An Honest Woman.

I Do Not Love The Sabbath, The Soapsuds And The Starch, The Troops Of Solemn People Who To Salvation March. I Take My Book, I Take My Stick On The Sabbath Day, In Woody Nooks And Valleys I Hide Myself Away. To Ponder There In Quiet God's Universal Plan, Resolved That Church And Sabbath Were Never Made For Man.

Every Fairy Child May Keep Two Strong Ponies And Ten Sheep; All Have Houses, Each His Own, Built Of Brick Or Granite Stone; They Live On Cherries, They Run Wild I'd Love To Be A Fairy's Child.