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!
You May Also Like / View all maxioms
Of trees I (Krishna) am the fig.
Of trees I (Krishna) am the fig.
Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary.
Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary.
Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
Each word bears its weight, so you have to read my poems quite slowly.
Each word bears its weight, so you have to read my poems quite slowly.
Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.
Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.
A poem conveys not a message so much as the provenance of a message, an advent of sense.
A poem conveys not a message so much as the provenance of a message, an advent of sense.
Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.
Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.
It does not need that a poem should be long. Every word was once
a poem.
It does not need that a poem should be long. Every word was once
a poem.
The fatal facility of the octosyllabic verse.
The fatal facility of the octosyllabic verse.
