Quotes Tagged "poetry"

I will have poetry in my life. And adventure. And love. Love above all. No... not the artful postures of love, not playful and poetical games of love for the amusement of an evening, but love that... overthrows life. Unbiddable, ungovernable - like a riot in the heart, and nothing to be done, come ruin or rapture.

Gains for all our losses There are gains for all our losses There are balms for all our pains But when youth the dream departs It takes some thing from our hearts And never comes again We are stronger and are better Under manhood’s sterner reign Still we feel that some thing sweet Followed youth with flying feet And will never come again. Some thing beautiful has vanished And we sigh for it in vain We behold it every where---- On the earth and in the air---- But it never comes again.

Who could have foretold the heart grows old from touching others

I thought my fireplace dead and stirred the ashes. I burned my fingers.

If you are of the opinion that the contemplation of suicide is sufficient evidence of a poetic nature, do not forget that actions speak louder than words.

I am obnoxious to each carping tongue/ Who says my hand a needle better fits./ A poet's pen all scorn I should thus wrong/ For such despite they cast on female wits;/ If what I do prove well, it won't advance,/ They'll say it's stolen, or else, it was by chance.

And marbled clouds go scudding by The many-steepled London sky.

Icarus should have waited for nightfall, the moon would have never let him go.

Tell me not in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem.

Love, be mystical as the flickering blue flame of night as the fully-awoken moon beneath cobwebs of passing clouds amidst chanting high-tides fuzzy, as my blanket big enough to illuminate a hundred thousand billion galaxies and just small enough to fit into my embrace.

How astonishing it is that language can almost mean, and frightening that it does not quite.

In visions of the night, like dropping rain, Descend the many memories of pain

She was everything real in a world of make-believe. 

I am sore wounded but not slain I will lay me down and bleed a while And then rise up to fight again

Fare well we call to hearth and hall Though wind may blow and rain may fall We must away ere break of day Over the wood and mountain tall To Rivendell where Elves yet dwell In glades beneath the misty fell Through moor and waste we ride in haste And wither then we cannot tell With foes ahead behind us dread Beneath the sky shall be our bed Until at last our toil be sped Our journey done, our errand sped We must away! We must away! We ride before the break of day!

Even this late it happens: the coming of love, the coming of light.

The Arrow and the Song I shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight. I breathed a song into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For who has sight so keen and strong, That it can follow the flight of song? Long, long afterward, in an oak I found the arrow, still unbroke; And the song, from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend.

be good to yourself you're the only you you'll ever get

He drove his mind into the abyss where poetry is written.

I lock my door upon myself, And bar them out; but who shall wall Self from myself, most loathed of all?