No Poem Is Worth Anything Unless It

The Gas-cylinders Had By This Time Been Put Into Position On The Front Line. A Special Order Came Round Imposing Severe Penalties On Anyone Who Used Any Word But "accessory" In Speaking Of The Gas. This Was To Keep It Secret, But The French Civilians Knew All About The Scheme Long Before This.

The Gift Of Independence Once Granted Cannot Be Lightly Taken Away Again.

Through The Window I Can See Rooks Above The Cherry-tree, Sparrows In The Violet Bed, Bramble-bush And Bumble-bee, And Old Red Bracken Smoulders Still Among Boulders On The Hill, Far Too Bright To Seem Quite Dead. But Old Death, Who Can't Forget, Waits His Time And Watches Yet, Waits And Watches By The Door.

You Mean That People Who Continue Virtuous In An Old-fashioned Way Must Inevitably Suffer In Times Like These?

The Award Of A Pure Gold Medal For Poetry Would Flatter The Recipient Unduly: No Poem Ever Attains Such Carat Purity.