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.

Poetry is itself a thing of God;
He made his prophets poets;and the more
We feel of read more

Poetry is itself a thing of God;
He made his prophets poets;and the more
We feel of poesie do we become
Like God in love and power,--under-makers.

A poem is true if it hangs together. Information points to something else. A poem points to nothing but itself.

A poem is true if it hangs together. Information points to something else. A poem points to nothing but itself.

Poetry, therefore, we will call Musical Thought.

Poetry, therefore, we will call Musical Thought.

The courage of the Poet is to keep ajar the door that leads into madness.

The courage of the Poet is to keep ajar the door that leads into madness.

Poetry is the opening and closing of a door, leaving those who look through to guess what is seen during read more

Poetry is the opening and closing of a door, leaving those who look through to guess what is seen during a moment.

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!

CONSIDERING THE VOID
When I behold the charm
of evening skies, their lulling endurance;
the patterns of stars with read more

CONSIDERING THE VOID
When I behold the charm
of evening skies, their lulling endurance;
the patterns of stars with names
of bears and dogs, a swan, a virgin;
other planets that the Voyager showed
were like and so unlike our own,
with all their diverse moons,
bright discs, weird rings, and cratered faces;
comets with their streaming tails
bent by pressure from our sun;
the skyscape of our Milky Way
holding in its shimmering disc
an infinity of suns
(or say a thousand billion);
knowing there are holes of darkness
gulping mass and even light,
knowing that this galaxy of ours
is one of multitudes
in what we call the heavens,
it troubles me. It troubles me.
-President Jimmy Carter- (he has written a volume of poetry as well as a novel, The Hornet's Nest,
about the Revolutionary War).

It does not need that a poem should be long. Every word was once
a poem.

It does not need that a poem should be long. Every word was once
a poem.