The nightingales are singing near The Convent of the Sacred Heart, And sang within the bloody wood When Agamemnon cried aloud, And let their liquid siftings fall To stain the stiff dishonored shroud.

The usual dog about the town is much inclined to play the clown.

Talent imitates, genius steals.

The rats are underneath the piles/ The Jew is underneath the lot.

Unreal friendship may turn to real But real friendship, once ended, cannot be mended

Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think

One of the surest tests of the superiority or inferiority of a poet is the way in which a poet borrows. Immature poets imitate mature poets steal bad poets deface what they take and good poets make it into something better or at least something different. The good poet welds his theft into a whole of feeling which is unique utterly different than that from which it is torn the bad poet throws it into something which has no cohesion. A good poet will usually borrow from authors remote in time or alien in language or diverse in interest.