Souls of poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern Have ye tippled drink more fine Than mine host's Canary wine
Souls of poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern Have ye tippled drink more fine Than mine host's Canary wine
How does the poet speak to men with power, but by being still more a man than they.
Should ever the fine-eyed maid to me be kind Ah surely it must be whenever I find Some flowery spot, sequestered, wild, romantic That often must have seen a poet frantic.
What shocks the virtuous philosopher, delights the chameleon poet.
A poet is the most unpoetical of anything in existence, because he has no identity - he is continually informing and filling some other body.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories