I have written very little poetry in my life and only two lines of modern poetry. Here they are:
I will pull down hastings, you shall see Companion to India, as a boat gnawed.
I wrote them last year in a dream and managed to transcribe them before the censors stopped me. That censor, who from Purlock or elsewhere, always attends on our sleep and prevents us from communicating what we have learned in it. On their merits, I need not pronounce. They seem to me poetry because they scan and modern because they are obscure and minotaurish.