Poetry Quotes

Some day I shall sing to thee in the sunrise of some other world, I have seen thee before in the light of the earth, in the love of man.

This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.

To the birds you gave songs, the birds gave you songs in return. You gave me only a voice, yet asked for more, thus I sing.

The music of the far-away summer flutters around the Autumn seeking its former nest.

Plunge into the deep without fear, with the gladness of April in your heart.

Alas, why are my nights all thus lost? Ah, why do I ever miss his sight whose breath touches my sleep?

Perhaps that dawn will come from this horizon, from the East where the sun rises. A day will come when unvanquished Man will retrace his path of conquest, despite all barriers, to win back his lost human heritage.

I am restless. I am athirst for faraway things. My soul goes out in a longing to touch the skirt of the dim distance. O Great Beyond, O the keen call of thy flute! I forget, I ever forget, that I have no wings to fly, that I am bound in this spot evermore.

Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

A poem begins with a lump in the throat; a homesickness or a love sickness. It is a reaching-out toward expression; an effort to find fulfillment. A complete poem is one where an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

Poetry is what is lost in translation. It is also what is lost in interpretation.

The rain to the wind said, You push and I'll pelt.' They so smote the garden bed That the flowers actually knelt, And lay lodged - though not dead. I know how the flowers felt.

O hushed October morning mild, Begin the hours of this day slow, Make the day seem to us less brief... Retard the sun with gentle mist; Enchant the land with amethyst.

A voice said, Look me in the stars And tell me truly, men of earth, If all the soul-and-body scars Were not too much to pay for birth.

Every poem is a momentary stay against the confusion of the world.

One of the hardest things in life to accept is a called third strike.

The middle of the road is where the white line is - and that's the worst place to drive.

Lovers, forget your love And list to the love of these. She a window flower. And he a winter breeze.

Nature's first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.

Poetry is about the grief. Politics is about the grievance.