As for the usefulness of poetry, its uses are many. It is the deification of reality.
The poet speaks to all men of that other life of theirs that they have smothered and forgotten.
All great poetry is dipped in the dyes of the heart.
In the Augustan age ... poetry was ... the sister of architecture; with the romantics, and their heightened vowel-sense, resulting in different melodic lines, she became the sister of music; in the present day, she appears like the sister of horticulture, each poem growing according to the law of its own nature.
Isn't it curious how one has only to open a book of verse to realise immediately that it was written by a very fine poet, or else that it was written by someone who is not a poet at all. In the case of the former, the lines, the images, though they are inherent in each other, leap up and give one this shock of delight. In the case of the latter, they lie flat on the page, never having lived.
I may say that I think greed about poetry is the only permissible greed - it is, indeed, unavoidable.
If certain critics and poetasters had their way, 'Ordinary Piety' and its child, Dullness, would be the masters of poetry.
it is as unseeing to ask what is the use of poetry as it would be to ask what is the use of religion.
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