She was free in her prison on passion.
Her body swayed, while she danced, as a plant sways in the water.
Her hair clustered around her face like dark leaves round a pale rose.
For that there was no atonement; but though forgiveness was impossible, forgetfulness was possible still.
Fantastic shadows of birds.
The sunlight slipped over the polished leaves.
Iridescent with fancy and winged it with paradox.
Yet the roses are not less lovely for all that.
To have ruined one’s self over poetry is an honour.
Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.
You will never be alone with a poet in your pocket.
And your very flesh shall be a great poem.
The first man to compare the cheeks of a young woman to a rose was obviously a poet; the first to repeat it was possibly an idiot.
Poetry is nearer to vital truth than history.
I read poetry to save time.
If my poetry aims to achieve anything, it's to deliver people from the limited ways in which they see and feel.
Listen, real poetry doesn't say anything; it just ticks off the possibilities. opens all doors. you can walk through any one that suits you.
If I feel physically as If the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.
There is no frigate like a book to take us lands away nor any coursers like a page of prancing poetry.
Her contempt for me was so strong, that it became infectious, and I caught it.