I Don't Think Auden Liked My Poetry

There Can Be No Good Art That Is International. Art To Be Vigorous And Gesund Must Use The Material At Hand.

My Muse Sits Forlorn She Wishes She Had Not Been Born She Sits In The Cold No Word She Says Is Ever Told.

This Is The Simplest Of All Thoughts, That Death Must Come When We Call, Although He Is A God.

See The Cat At Love, Rolling With Its Sweetheart, Up And Over, With Shriek And Moan. But If A Person Comes By, They Break Away, Sit Separate Upon A Fence Washing Their Faces - And Might Never Have Met At All.

The Religion Of Christianity Is Mixed Of Sweetness And Cruelty Reject This Sweetness, For She Wears A Smoky Dress Out Of Hell Fires.