When the brain gets as dry as an empty nut,
When the reason stands on its squarest toes,
When the mind (like a beard) has a "formal cut,"--
There is a place and enough for the pains of prose;
But whenever the May-blood stires and glows,
And the young year draws to the "golden prime,"
And Sir Romeo sticks in his ear a rose,--
Then hey! for the ripple of laughing rhyme!
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Poetry comes nearer to vital truth than history.
Poetry comes nearer to vital truth than history.
Poetry is not a profession, it is a destiny.
Poetry is not a profession, it is a destiny.
A poet dares be just so clear and no clearer... He unzips the veil from beauty, but does not remove read more
A poet dares be just so clear and no clearer... He unzips the veil from beauty, but does not remove it. A poet utterly clear is a trifle glaring.
It is in self-limitation that a master first shows himself.
It is in self-limitation that a master first shows himself.
Poetry is ordinary language raised to the Nth power. Poetry is boned with ideas, nerved and blooded with emotions, all read more
Poetry is ordinary language raised to the Nth power. Poetry is boned with ideas, nerved and blooded with emotions, all held together by the delicate, tough skin of words.
Why then we should drop into poetry.
Why then we should drop into poetry.
Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.
Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.
Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason.
Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason.
For me, poetry is an evasion of the real job of writing prose.
For me, poetry is an evasion of the real job of writing prose.
