Five miles meandering with mazy motion, Through dale the sacred
river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man, read more

Five miles meandering with mazy motion, Through dale the sacred
river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man, And sank
the tumult to a lifeless ocean: And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard
from far Ancestral voices prophesying war!

But wherefore thou alone? Wherefore with theeCame not all hell broke loose? Is pain to themLess pain, less to be read more

But wherefore thou alone? Wherefore with theeCame not all hell broke loose? Is pain to themLess pain, less to be fled, or thou than theyLess hardy to endure? Courageous chief,The first in flight from pain, hadst thou allegedTo thy deserted host this cause of flight,Thou surely hadst not come sole fugitive. - Paradise Lost.

If a poet has any obligation toward society, it is to write well. Being in the minority, he has no read more

If a poet has any obligation toward society, it is to write well. Being in the minority, he has no other choice. Failing this duty, he sinks into oblivion. Society, on the other hand, has no obligation toward the poet. A majority by definition, society thinks of itself as having other options than reading verses, no matter how well written. Its failure to do so results in its sinking to that level of locution at which society falls easy prey to a demagogue or a tyrant. This is society's own equivalent of oblivion.

The fashion of liking Racine will pass away like that of coffee.
[Fr., La mode d'aimer Racine passera comme read more

The fashion of liking Racine will pass away like that of coffee.
[Fr., La mode d'aimer Racine passera comme la mode du cafe.]

Literature is the thought of thinking Souls.

Literature is the thought of thinking Souls.

Our poetry in the eighteenth century was prose; our prose in the
seventeenth, poetry.

Our poetry in the eighteenth century was prose; our prose in the
seventeenth, poetry.

Education is what survives when what has been learned has been forgotten.

Education is what survives when what has been learned has been forgotten.

When the waves are round me breaking,As I pace the deck alone,And my eye in vain is seekingSome green leaf read more

When the waves are round me breaking,As I pace the deck alone,And my eye in vain is seekingSome green leaf to rest upon;What would not I give to wanderWhere my old companions dwell?Absence makes the heart grow fonder,Isle of Beauty, fare thee well! - Paradise Lost.

The death of Dr. Hudson is a loss to the republick of letters.

The death of Dr. Hudson is a loss to the republick of letters.