The Poetry is in the pity.
The Poetry is in the pity.
My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity.
A Poem does not grow by jerks. As trees in Spring produce a new ring of tissue, so does every poet put forth a fresh outlay of stuff at the same season.
Never fear: Thank Home, and Poetry, and the Force behind both.
I find purer philosophy in a Poem than in a Conclusion of Geometry, a chemical analysis, or a physical law.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories