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Nations are born in the hearts of poets, they prosper and die in the hands of politicians.
Nations are born in the hearts of poets, they prosper and die in the hands of politicians.
Poets are sultans, if they had their will:
For every author would his brother kill.
Poets are sultans, if they had their will:
For every author would his brother kill.
Who all in raptures their own works rehearse,
And drawl out measur'd prose, which they call verse.
Who all in raptures their own works rehearse,
And drawl out measur'd prose, which they call verse.
One fine day,
Says Mister Mucklewraith to me, says he.
"So! you're a poet in your house," read more
One fine day,
Says Mister Mucklewraith to me, says he.
"So! you're a poet in your house," and smiled.
"A Poet? God forbid," I cried; and then
It all came out: how Andrew slyly sent
Verse to the paper; how they printed it
In Poet's Corner.
He lives the poetry that he cannot write. The others write the poetry that they dare not realise.
He lives the poetry that he cannot write. The others write the poetry that they dare not realise.
I have never yet known a poet who did not think himself
super-excellent.
[Lat., Adhue neminem cognovi poetam, read more
I have never yet known a poet who did not think himself
super-excellent.
[Lat., Adhue neminem cognovi poetam, qui sibi non optimus
videretur.]
Singing and rejoicing,
As aye since time began,
The dying earth's last poet
Shall read more
Singing and rejoicing,
As aye since time began,
The dying earth's last poet
Shall be the earth's last man.
The poet ranks far below the painter in the representation of visible things, and far below the musician in that read more
The poet ranks far below the painter in the representation of visible things, and far below the musician in that of invisible things.
Verse is not written, it is bled; Out of the poet's abstract head. Words drip the poem on the page; read more
Verse is not written, it is bled; Out of the poet's abstract head. Words drip the poem on the page; Out of his grief, delight and rage.