Here you will find thePoemOn Teaching The Youngof poet Yvor Winters
The young are quick of speech. Grown middle-aged, I teach Corrosion and distrust, Exacting what I must. A poem is what stands When imperceptive hands, Feeling, have gone astray. It is what one should say. Few minds will come to this. The poet?s only bliss Is in cold certitude? Laurel, archaic, rude.
