Here are a couple of oddities from the poetic canon of Clark Ashton Smith (CAS). Both were unpublished in his lifetime, and the surviving copy of the first was damaged in a fire, so it is incomplete.
I group these two short poems together since they are both critiques of T. S. Eliot's Four Quartets, a sequence of connected poems published in a collected edition in 1943. CAS apparently wrote his own poems shortly after Eliot's volume first became available in the U.S.
On Trying to Read Four Quartets
(Perhaps the British call him Heliot).
Poetry, though its proper concerns are not primarily intellectual, is none the worse for having behind it a keen and firm intelligence. But intelligence alone does not make poetry, as glaringly exemplified by the latter works of T. S. Eliot, which, while no doubt profound from a philosophical standpoint, has little or nothing of the bardic magic and mystery; all such elements having been ruthlessly sacrificed, leaving an obscurity which, unlike that of Gérard de Nerval, is devoid of color, glamour, and the allurement of new imaginative meanings and analogies which would justify obscurity.