You Mean That People Who

Abstract Reason, Formerly The Servant Of Practical Human Reasons, Has Everywhere Become Its Master, And Denies Poetry Any Excuse For Existence. Though Philosophers Like To Define Poetry As Irrational Fancy, For Us It Is Practical, Humorous, Reasonable Way Of Being Ourselves. Of Never Acquiescing In A Fraud; Of Never Accepting The Secondary-rate In Poetry, Painting, Music, Love, Friends. Of Safeguarding Our Poetic Institutions Against The Encroachments Of Mechanized, Insensate, Inhumane, Abstract Rationality.

A Perfect Poem Is Impossible. Once It Had Been Written, The World Would End. Immature Poets Imitate; Mature Poets Steal.

Patriotism, In The Trenches, Was Too Remote A Sentiment, And At Once Rejected As Fit Only For Civilians, Or Prisoners. A New Arrival Who Talked Patriotism Would Soon Be Told To Cut It Out.

In Love As In Sport, The Amateur Status Must Be Strictly Maintained.

When The Immense Drugged Universe Explodes In A Cascade Of Unendurable Colour And Leaves Us Gasping Naked, This Is No More Than The Ectasy Of Chaos: Hold Fast, With Both Hands, To That Royal Love Which Alone, As We Know Certainly, Restores Fragmentation Into True Being. Ecstasy Of Chaos