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."
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A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds
They best can judge a poet's worth,
Who oft themselves have known
The pangs of a poetic read more
They best can judge a poet's worth,
Who oft themselves have known
The pangs of a poetic birth
By labours of their own.
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.]
Poets have said that the reason to have children is to give yourself immortality. Immortality? Now that I have five read more
Poets have said that the reason to have children is to give yourself immortality. Immortality? Now that I have five children, my only hope is that they are all out of the house before I die.
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.
Verse is not written, it is bled; Out of the poet's abstract head. Words drip the poem on the page; read more
Verse is not written, it is bled; Out of the poet's abstract head. Words drip the poem on the page; Out of his grief, delight and rage.
And poets by their sufferings grow,--
As if there were no more to do,
To make a read more
And poets by their sufferings grow,--
As if there were no more to do,
To make a poet excellent,
But only want and discontent.
O brave poets, keep back nothing;
Nor mix falsehood with the whole!
Look up Godward! speak the read more
O brave poets, keep back nothing;
Nor mix falsehood with the whole!
Look up Godward! speak the truth in
Worthy song from earnest soul!
Hold, in high poetic duty,
Truest Truth the fairest Beauty.
A subject for a great poet would be God's boredom after the seventh day of creation.
A subject for a great poet would be God's boredom after the seventh day of creation.
