A poem is never finished, only abandoned.

A poem is never finished, only abandoned.

A poet is someone who is astonished by everything.

A poet is someone who is astonished by everything.

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.

Poetry is finer and more philosophical than history; for poetry expresses the universal, and history only the particular.

Poetry is finer and more philosophical than history; for poetry expresses the universal, and history only the particular.

Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, read more

Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.

The great function of poetry is to give back to us the situations of our dreams.

The great function of poetry is to give back to us the situations of our dreams.

Children and lunatics cut the Gordian knot which the poet spends his life patiently trying to untie.

Children and lunatics cut the Gordian knot which the poet spends his life patiently trying to untie.

Poetry is ordinary language raised to the Nth power. Poetry is boned with ideas, nerved and blooded with emotions, all read more

Poetry is ordinary language raised to the Nth power. Poetry is boned with ideas, nerved and blooded with emotions, all held together by the delicate, tough skin of words.

When the brain gets as dry as an empty nut,
When the reason stands on its squarest toes,
read more

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!