To Break The Pentameter, That Was The

The Garden En Robe De Parade. - Samain Like A Skein Of Loose Silk Blown Against A Wall She Walks By The Railing Of A Path In Kensington Gardens, And She Is Dying Piece-meal Of A Sort Of Emotional Anaemia. And Round About There Is A Rabble Of The Filthy, Sturdy, Unkillable Infants Of The Very Poor. They Shall Inherit The Earth. In Her Is The End Of Breeding. Her Boredom Is Exquisite And Excessive. She Would Like Some One To Speak To Her, And Is Almost Afraid That I Will Commit That Indiscretion.

With Usura With Usura Hath No Man A House Of Good Stone Each Block Cut Smooth And Well Fitting.

The Natural Object Is Always The Adequate Symbol.

Artists Are The Antennae Of The Race, But The Bullet-headed Many Will Never Learn To Trust The Great Artists.

What Counts Is The Cultural Level