Quotes About Poem

My secret dream is to write an epic poem. That's probably the most pretentious thing I've said.

Although it had been announced that the coffin would not be opened, it was, at Mrs. Cody's order. For two hours the crowd filed by, two abreast, parents holding their children shoulder high. The ceremonies were in the charge of Golden City Lodge No. 1, Ancient Free and Accepted Masons, acting for the North Platte lodge of which Cody had been a member. The Masonic burial ritual was read, as was an original poem dedicated to the scout by A. F. Beeler.

Nothing is more lethal to the effect that a ghost story should make than for the author to provide alternative materialist solution. This reduces a poem to a puzzle and confines the reader's spirit instead of enlarging it.

There's nought but care on ev'ry han',In every hour that passes, O:What signifies the life o' man,An' 't were nae for the lasses, O.

The poem is a little myth of man's capacity of making life meaningful.

Look, do you see that poem?' she said suddenly, pointing.

It has been a Prosy day for us, but for some people it has been a wonderful day. Someone was rapturously happy in it. Perhaps a great deed has been done somewhere today- a great poem written- or a great man born. And some heart has been broken, Phil.

No: Shakespear's household bills Could never be responsible, they say, For all the heartache and the 1000 ills His work is heir to, poem, sonnet, play . . . Emended readings give the real reason: The times were out of joint, the loves, the season. - The Critics

Each language has its own temperament; some languages make a poem more dramatic or sad, and others make it more playful.

In Science we have been reading only the notes to a poem; in Christianity we find the poem itself.

I am trying to convince myself that failure is interesting. I look the word up in the American Heritage Dictionary to find its earliest incarnation, but it has always been just 'failure.' There's no Indo-European root meaning originally 'to dare' or 'mercy' or 'hummingbird' to make of the whole mess a mysterious poem. I can find no other fossilized remains in the word. Humility comes along on its own dime.

for which he had to pay "1 panegyrick poem every year." That is Homeric rent.

Forgive me then, if the poems I write are about the fragments, the broken bridges, and unlit fences in my life. For the poet, the poem is not the measure of his love. It is the measure of all he's lost, or never seen, or what has no life, unless he gives it life with words. from "With Words

Even while you sit there, unmovable, You have begun to vanish. And it does not matter. The poem will go on without you. It has the spurious glamor of certain voids.

This poem is not addressed to you.]" This poem is not addressed to you. You may come into it briefly, But no one will find you here, no one. You will have changed before the poem will. Even while you sit there, unmovable, You have begun to vanish. And it does not matter. The poem will go on without you. It has the spurious glamor of certain voids.

Every moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem.

was afraid my love for him and my need for him to say yes would be written on my face like a poem.

Needless to say that in this beautiful poem Goethe expresses the core of his concept of investigating nature.

In the head of the adoring male is the illusion that sublime beauty is all head and wings, with no bottom to betray it. In one of Swift's poems a young man explains the grotesque contradiction that is tearing him apart: Nor wonder how I lost my Wits; Oh! Caelia, Caelia, Caelia, shits! In other words, in Swift's mind there was an absolute contradiction between the state of being in love and an awareness of the excremental function of the beloved.

We need more true mystery in our lives Hem- he said. The completely unambitious writer and the really good unpublished poem are the things we lack most. There is of course the problem of sustenance

To bite a witch beside a path, Some vipers did contrive. The snakes all perished one by one, The witch is still alive.

For many years, I thought a poem was a whisper overheard, not an aria heard.

A poem with grandly conceived and executed stanzas, such as one of Keats's odes, should be like an enfilade of rooms in a palace: one proceeds, with eager anticipation, from room to room.

A revolutionary poem will not tell you who or when to kill, what and when to burn, or even how to theorize. It reminds you... where and when and how you are living and might live, it is a wick of desire.