Poetry Quotes — page 18

I have nothing to say for rhyme, but that I doubt whether a poem can support itself without it, in our language; unless it be stiffened with such strange words, as are likely to destroy our language itself.

There was a bad poet named Clough, Whom his friends all united to puff. But the public, though dull, Has not quite such a skull As belongs to believers in Clough.

Great is the art of beginning, but greater the art is of ending; Many a poem is marred by a superfluous verse.

To write a verse or two is all the praise That I can raise.

There are two classes of poets — the poets by education and practice, these we respect; and poets by nature, these we love.

He who would write heroic poems should make his whole life a heroic poem.

I should strive (on reading a book of poetry) to evoke the a soul out of this piece of inanimate matter,a something characteristic and structural inherent in this organic form which is friendly to me and responds to my mood.

Poetry has been to me something more than amusement, it has been a cheering companion when I had no other to fly to, a delightful solace.

Philosophy resembles poetry in being an art for enforcing meditation, for driving the mind inwards until it sinks into its Object.

Stella, think not that I by verse seek fame, Who seek, who hope, who love, who live but thee; Thine eyes my pride, thy lips mine history: If thou praise not, all other praise is shame.

One can put up with, indeed more than put up with, a certain amount of technical carelessness in Poetry, provided it be in other respects of a very high order, as not unoften, for instance, in Shakespeare and Byron. But similar blemishes …

And poets by their sufferings grow; As if there were no more to do, To make a poet excellent, But only want and discontent.

In heaven, all ordinary thought is higher and more melodious than Milton's song. Then, would he add another verse to any strain that he had left unfinished here?

As civilization advances, poetry almost necessarily declines.

Let Charity forgive me a mistake, That zeal, not vanity, has chanced to make, And spare the poet for his subject’s sake.

Verse, a Breeze 'mid blossoms straying, Where clung feeding, like a bee— Both were mine! Life went a-maying With , , and , When I was young!

A true account of the actual is the rarest poetry, for common sense always takes a hasty and superficial view.

I think I shall be among the English Poets after my death.

There were certain impressions I wanted to fix. I read verse models but none seemed to suitably express that kind of impression..until I came to read French vers libre which seemed to eactly fitr the case.

Now the object Truth, or the satisfaction of the intellect, and the object Passion, or the excitement of the heart, are, although attainable to a certain extent in poetry, far more readily attainable in prose.

I am a daughter of that land, Where the poet's lip and the painter's hand Are most divine, —where the earth and sky, Are picture both and poetry— I am of Florence.

All slang is metaphor, and all metaphor is poetry.

Poet and Saint! to thee alone are given The two most sacred names of Earth and Heaven.

Three poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. The first in loftiness of thought surpassed; The next, in majesty; in both the last. The force of Nature could no further go. To make a third, she joined the …