Poetry Must Be As Well

Song In The Manner Of Housman" O Woe, Woe, People Are Born And Die, We Also Shall Be Dead Pretty Soon Therefore Let Us Act As If We Were Dead Already. The Bird Sits On The Hawthorn Tree But He Dies Also, Presently. Some Lads Get Hung, And Some Get Shot. Woeful Is This Human Lot. Woe! Woe, Etcetera.... London Is A Woeful Place, Shropshire Is Much Pleasanter. Then Let Us Smile A Little Space Upon Fond Nature's Morbid Grace. Oh, Woe, Woe, Woe, Etcetera.

What Matters Is Not The Idea A Man Holds, But The Depth At Which He Holds It.

The Temple Is Holy Because It Is Not For Sale.

A Great Age Of Literature Is Perhaps Always A Great Age Of Translations.

I Have Tried To Write Paradise Do Not Move Let The Wind Speak That Is Paradise. Let The Gods Forgive What I Have Made Let Those I Love Try To Forgive What I Have Made.