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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Poetry is the art of substantiating shadows, and of lending existence to nothing.
Poetry is the art of substantiating shadows, and of lending existence to nothing.
A poet is someone who is astonished by everything.
A poet is someone who is astonished by everything.
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.
Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.
Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.
All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling.
All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling.
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 not a profession, it is a destiny.
Poetry is not a profession, it is a destiny.
What is a Sonnet? 'Tis the pearly shell
That murmurs of the far-off, murmuring sea;
A precious read more
What is a Sonnet? 'Tis the pearly shell
That murmurs of the far-off, murmuring sea;
A precious jewel carved most curiously;
It is a little picture painted well.
What is a Sonnet? 'Tis the tear that fell
From a great poet's hidden ecstasy;
A two-edged sword, a star, a song--ah me!
Sometimes a heavy tolling funeral bell.
'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.
