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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For florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme,
Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.
For florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme,
Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.
To have great poets, there must be great audiences too.
To have great poets, there must be great audiences too.
For it is not metres, but a metre-making argument that makes a
poem.
For it is not metres, but a metre-making argument that makes a
poem.
It is Homer who has chiefly taught other poets the art of telling lies skillfully.
It is Homer who has chiefly taught other poets the art of telling lies skillfully.
Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.
Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.
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.
There's no money in poetry, but then there's no poetry in money, either.
There's no money in poetry, but then there's no poetry in money, either.
Poetry is a packsack of invisible keepsakes.
Poetry is a packsack of invisible keepsakes.
Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted.
Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted.
