"Sometimes, of course, the thought of there being so many other poets writing cannot but seep in, however much one may try to keep it at bay by reading nothing since Beowulf. Then one may grow rather shrill
I would rather be sad than shrill, and I will sing the next poem, which is about a little child who got tired of being told he was only one of many

So he threw his fellows in a ditch and got hanged for it."