Wisdom married to immortal verse.
_The Excursion, Bk. VII_. w. WORDSWORTH.
Of all those arts in which the wise excel,
Nature's chief masterpiece is writing well;
No writing lifts exalted man so high
As sacred and soul-moving poesy.
_Essay on Poetry_. SHEFFIELD, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAMSHIRE.
Poetry is itself a thing of God;
He made his prophets poets; and the more
We feel of poesie do we become
Like God in love and power.--under-makers.
_Festus: Proem_. P.J. BAILEY.
Go boldly forth, my simple lay,
Whose accents flow with artless ease,
Like orient pearls at random strung.
_A Persian Song of Hafiz_. SIR W. JONES.
One simile that solitary shines
In the dry desert of a thousand lines.
_Imitations of Horace. Epistle I. Bk. II_. A. POPE.
Read, meditate, reflect, grow wise--in vain;
Try every help, force fire from every spark;
Yet shall you ne'er the poet's power attain,
If heaven ne'er stamped you with the muses' mark.
_The Poet_. A. HILL.
Jewels five-words long,
That on the stretched forefinger of all time
Sparkle forever.
_The Princess, Canto II_. A. TENNYSON.
Choice word and measured phrase above the reach
Of ordinary men.
_Resolution and Independence_. W. WORDSWORTH.
The varying verse, the full resounding line.
The long majestic march, and energy divine.
_Imitations of Horace, Bk. II. Epistle I_. A. POPE.
Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower
Near the lark's nest, or in their natural hour
Have passed away; less happy than the one
That, by the unwilling ploughshare, died to prove
The tender charm of poetry and love.
_Poems in Summer of_ 1833, _XXXVII_. W. WORDSWORTH.
Thanks untraced to lips unknown
Shall greet me like the odors blown
From unseen meadows newly mown,
Or lilies floating in some pond,
Wood-fringed, the wayside gaze beyond;
The traveller owns the grateful sense
Of sweetness near, he knows not whence,
And, pausing, takes with forehead bare
The benediction of the air.
_Snow-Bound_. J.G. WHITTIER.
Give me that growth which some perchance deem sleep,
Wherewith the steadfast coral-stems arise,
Which, by the toil of gathering energies,
Their upward way into clear sunshine keep
Until, by Heaven's sweetest influences,
Slowly and slowly spreads a speck of green
Into a pleasant island in the seas,
Where, mid tall palms, the cane-roofed home is seen,
And wearied men shall sit at sunset's hour,
Hearing the leaves and loving God's dear power.
_Sonnet VII_. J.R. LOWELL.
A drainless shower
Of light is poesy: 't is the supreme of power;
'T is might half slumbering on its own right arm.
_Sleep and Poetry_. J. KEATS.
For dear to gods and men is sacred song.
Self-taught I sing: by Heaven and Heaven alone,
The genuine seeds of poesy are sown.
_Odyssey, Bk. XXII_. HOMER. _Trans. of_ POPE.
Still govern thou my song,
Urania, and fit audience find, though few.
_Paradise Lost, Bk. VII_. MILTON.