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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.
Ovid's a rake, as half his verses show him,
Anacreon's morals are a still worse sample,
Catullus read more
Ovid's a rake, as half his verses show him,
Anacreon's morals are a still worse sample,
Catullus scarcely has a decent poem,
I don't think Sappho's Ode a good example,
Although Longinus tells us there is no hymn
Where the sublime soars forth on wings more ample;
But Virgil's songs are pure, except that horrid one
Being with "Formosum Pastor Corydon."
Most joyful let the Poet be;
It is through him that all men see.
Most joyful let the Poet be;
It is through him that all men see.
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.]
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.
The union of the mathematician with the poet, fervor with measure, passion with correctness, this surely is the ideal
The union of the mathematician with the poet, fervor with measure, passion with correctness, this surely is the ideal
Poets by Death are conquer'd but the wit
Of poets triumphs over it.
Poets by Death are conquer'd but the wit
Of poets triumphs over it.
The Helicon of too many poets is not a hill crowned with sunshine and visited by the Muses and the read more
The Helicon of too many poets is not a hill crowned with sunshine and visited by the Muses and the Graces, but an old, mouldering house, full of gloom and haunted by ghosts.
