Quotes About Poetry

The clustered spires of Frederick standGreen-walled by the hills of Maryland.

Here Greek and Roman find themselves alive along these crowded shelves; and Shakespeare treads again his stage, and Chaucer paints anew his age.

And what's a buterfly? At best, He's but a ceterpillar, drest.

All a green willow, willow, willow,All a green willow is my garland.

I write small poems— the kind that fit on a postcard… and still can break your heart

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering--these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love--these are what we stay alive for.

O for the gentleness of old Romance, the simple planning of a minstrel's song!

Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,Sylvan historian, who canst thus expressA flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape?

Let the mad poets say whate'er they pleaseOf the sweets of Fairies, Peris, Goddesses,Haunters of cavern, lake, and waterfall,As a real woman, lineal indeedFrom Pyrrha's pebbles or old Adam's seed.

O Attic shape! Fair attitude!

A drainless showerOf light is poesy; 'tis the supreme of power;'Tis might half slumb'ring on its own right arm.

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

Already with thee! tender is the night.

The poetry of earth is never dead.

As to the poetical character itself… it is not itself—it has no self—it is every thing and nothing… It has as much delight in conceiving an Iago as an Imogen.

Bards of Passion and of Mirth,Ye have left your souls on earth!Have ye souls in heaven too,Double-lived in regions new?

That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,In some melodious plotOf beechen green, and shadows numberless,Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

How many bards gild the lapses of time!

Poetry should surprise by a fine excess and not by Singularity—it should strike the Reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a Remembrance.

Poetry should please by a fine excess and not by singularity. It should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost as a remembrance.

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard, are sweeter

The poetry of the earth is never dead.

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on.

Poetry, like remonstration, could be a form of protest; and since poets were products of the Confucian education system, extravagant military adventures often came in for criticism in their verses. No