I Don't Really Feel My Poems Are

There Is No Such Thing As Good Writing, Only Good Rewriting.

We Once Discussed Which Were The Cleanest Troops In The Trenches, Taken By Nationalities. We Agreed On A Descending-order Like This: English And German Protestants; Northern Irish, Welsh And Canadians; Irish And German Catholics; Scots; Mohammedan Indians; Algerians; Portugese; Belgians; French. We Put The Belgians And French There For Spite; They Could Not Have Been Dirtier Than The Algerians And The Portugese.

The Difference Between You And Her (whom I To You Did Once Prefer) Is Clear Enough To Settle: She Like A Diamond Shone, But You Shine Like An Early Drop Of Dew Poised On A Red Rose Petal. The Dew-drop Carries In Its Eye Mountain And Forest, Sea And Sky, With Every Change Of Weather; Contrariwise, A Diamond Splits The Prospect Into Idle Bits That None Can Piece Together.

Kaisers And Czars Will Strut The Stage Once More With Pomp And Greed And Rage; Courtly Ministers Will Stop At Home And Fight To The Last Drop; By The Million Men Will Die In Some New Horrible Agony.

A Well-chosen Anthology Is A Complete Dispensary Of Medicine For The More Common Mental Disorders, And May Be Used As Much For Prevention As Cure.