Feel you the barren flattery of a rhyme?
Can poets soothe you, when you pine for bread,
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Feel you the barren flattery of a rhyme?
Can poets soothe you, when you pine for bread,
By winding myrtle round your ruin'd shed?

Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.

Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.

A poet must leave traces of his passage, not proof.

A poet must leave traces of his passage, not proof.

For rhyme the rudder is of verses,
With which, like ships, they steer their courses.

For rhyme the rudder is of verses,
With which, like ships, they steer their courses.

Poetry, therefore, we will call Musical Thought.

Poetry, therefore, we will call Musical Thought.

morning: that first sapphire dome of glow.

morning: that first sapphire dome of glow.

The poem is the point at which our strength gave out.

The poem is the point at which our strength gave out.

Poetry is a packsack of invisible keepsakes.

Poetry is a packsack of invisible keepsakes.

Poetry is plucking at the heartstrings, and making music with them.

Poetry is plucking at the heartstrings, and making music with them.