The Artist Is The Antenna Of The

A Little Light, Like A Rushlight / To Lead Back To Splendour.

No Verse Is Libre For The Man Who Wants To Do A Good Job.

No Good Poetry Is Ever Written In A Manner Twenty Years Old, For To Write In Such A Manner Shows Conclusively That The Writer Thinks From Books, Convention And Cliché, Not From Real Life.

'tis The White Stag, Fame, We're A-hunting, Bid The World's Hounds Come To Horn!

Sumer Is Icumen In, Lhude Sing Cucc. Groweth Sed, And Bloweth Med, And Springth The Wude Nu, Sing Cuccu!