The Critic Who Doesn't Make

Real Education Must Ultimately Be Limited To Men Who Insist On Knowing, The Rest Is Mere Sheep-herding.

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

Song In The Manner Of Housman" O Woe, Woe, People Are Born And Die, We Also Shall Be Dead Pretty Soon Therefore Let Us Act As If We Were Dead Already. The Bird Sits On The Hawthorn Tree But He Dies Also, Presently. Some Lads Get Hung, And Some Get Shot. Woeful Is This Human Lot. Woe! Woe, Etcetera.... London Is A Woeful Place, Shropshire Is Much Pleasanter. Then Let Us Smile A Little Space Upon Fond Nature's Morbid Grace. Oh, Woe, Woe, Woe, Etcetera.

A Crowd Pagan As Ever Imperial Rome Was, Eager, Careless, With An Animal Vigour Unlike That Of Any European Crowd That I Have Ever Looked At.

And The Days Are Not Full Enough And The Nights Are Not Full Enough And Life Slips By Like A Field Mouse Not Shaking The Grass