Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.
I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
I have said that poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity: the emotion is contemplated till, by a species of reaction, the tranquillity gradually disappears, and an emotion, kindred to that which was before the subject of contemplation, is gradually produced, and does itself actually exist in the mind.
Poetry is the outcome of emotions recollected in tranquility.
poetry is the breath and finer spirit of knowledge
Poetry has never brought me in enough money to buy shoestrings.
It may be safely affirmed that there neither is, nor can be, any essential difference between the language of prose and metrical composition.... They both speak by and to the same organs; the bodies in which both of them are clothed may be said to be of the same substance, their affections are kindred, and almost identical, not necessarily differing even in degree; Poetry sheds no tears "such as Angels weep," but natural and human tears; she can boast of no celestial ichor that distinguishes her vital juices from those of prose; the same human blood circulates through the veins of them both.
Knowledge and increase of enduring joy From the great Nature that exists in works Of mighty Poets.
Poetry is most just to its divine origin, when it administers the comforts and breathes the thoughts of religion.
Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?
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