Feel you the barren flattery of a rhyme?
Can poets soothe you, when you pine for bread,
read more

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 the work of poets, not of peoples or communities; artistic creation can never be anything but the production read more

Poetry is the work of poets, not of peoples or communities; artistic creation can never be anything but the production of an individual mind .

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

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

A poet is someone who is astonished by everything.

A poet is someone who is astonished by everything.

A prose writer gets tired of writing prose, and wants to be a poet. So he begins every line with read more

A prose writer gets tired of writing prose, and wants to be a poet. So he begins every line with a capital letter, and keeps on writing prose.

The poet is the priest of the invisible.

The poet is the priest of the invisible.

Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted.

Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted.

You speak
As one who fed on poetry.

You speak
As one who fed on poetry.

'Twas he that ranged the words at random flung,
Pierced the fair pearls and them together strung.

'Twas he that ranged the words at random flung,
Pierced the fair pearls and them together strung.