Where'er you find "the cooling western breeze," 3881 Pope: E. on Criticism. Pt. ii. Line 150 What woful stuff this madrigal would be, Pope: E. on Criticism. Pt. ii. Line 218 Pope: Epis. to Arbuthnot. Line 3, Is there a parson much be-mused in beer, A maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer, A clerk, foredoomed his father's soul to cross, All fly to Twit'nam, and in humble strain Apply to me, to keep them mad or vain. 3884 Pope: Epis. to Arbuthnot. Line 15. As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame, Pope: Epis. to Arbuthnot. Line 127. Or from the soft-ey'd virgin steal a tear! 3886 Pope: Epis. to Arbuthnot. Line 283. He who now to sense, now nonsense, leaning, Means not, but blunders round about a meaning; And he, whose fustian's so sublimely bad, It is not poetry, but prose run mad: All these, my modest satire bade translate, 3887 Pope: Epis. to Arbuthnot. Line 185. Let Envy howl, while heaven's whole chorus sings, Let Flatt'ry sickening see the incense rise, And makes immortal, verses as mean as mine. 3888 Even copious Dryden wanted, or forgot, Pope: Epil. to Satires. Dialogue ii. Line 242. Pope: Satire v. Line 280 The last and greatest art, the art to blot. 3889 Sages and chiefs long since had birth Those raised new empires o'er the earth, And these new heavens and systems framed; Vain was the chiefs', the sages' pride! They had no poet, and they died. 3890 Pope: Imit. of Horace. A Fragment. Bk. 4. Ode 9 Sinking from thought to thought, a vast profound, Pope: Dunciad. Bk. i. Line 118. Now times are changed, and one poetic itch And all our grace at table is a song. 3892 Rising with Aurora's light, Pope: Satire v. Line 169 The Muse invoked, sit down to write; Enlarge, diminish, interline; Be mindful, when invention fails, To scratch your head, and bite your nails. 3893 Swift: On Poetry. Line 85. The bard, nor think too lightly that I mean The poor poet Worships without reward, nor hopes to find A heaven save in his worship. 3895 George Eliot: Spanish Gypsy. Bk. i Where go the poets' lines? Answer, ye evening tapers! Ye auburn locks, ye golden curls, Speak from your folded papers! 3896 Oliver Wendell Holmes: The Poet's Lot. St. 3. The busy shuttle comes and goes Across the rhymes, and deftly weaves A tissue out of autumn leaves, With here a thistle, there a rose. 3897 T. B. Aldrich: Cloth of Gold. Prelude A "poet" is a word soon said; A book's a thing soon written. Nay, indeed, There's more than passion goes to make a man, 3898 Mrs. Browning: Aurora Leigh. Bk. v. Line 400 I have been sojourning late Among the pleasant places of my Past, The green and quiet neighborhoods of Thought, Poetry is Henry Vaughan: Anguish The grandest chariot wherein king-thoughts ride; 3901 Alexander Smith: A Life Drama. Sc. 2. Poems, like pictures, are of different sorts, Some better at a distance, others near; Some love the dark, some choose the clearest light, And boldly challenge the most piercing eye; Some please for once, some will forever please. 3902 Roscommon: Transl. Horace's Art of Poetry. Line 405. God is the PERFECT POET, Who in creation acts his own conceptions. 3903 Robert Browning: Paracelsus. Sc 2. In Spring the Poet is glad, And in Summer the Poet is gay; But in Autumn the Poet is sad, And has something sad to say: And the autumn songs of the Poet's soul Of Winds that sough and Bells that toll 3904 Byron Forceythe Willson: Autumn Song The source of each accordant strain First from the people's heart must spring The language of their varying fate, 3905 The Poet's license! Bayard Taylor: Amran's Wooing 'tis the fee Of earth, and sky, and river To him who views them royally, To have and hold forever! 3906 Can the poets, in the rapture Paint the lily of the valley 3907 J. G. Saxe: The Poet's License J. G. Saxe: De Musa. Poets are all who love, who feel great truths 3908 Bailey: Festus. Sc. Another and a Better World. Poetry is itself a thing of God; He made His prophets poets, and the more Like God in love and power under-makers. 3909 Bailey: Festus. Proem. Line 5. Bailey: Festus. Sc. Home. Poets live upon the living light There is a pleasure in poetic pains, 3912 Young: Love of Fame. Satire iv. Line 191. Cowper: Task. Bk. ii. Line 285. Keats: Grasshopper and Cricket. The poetry of earth is never dead. 3913 Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong, And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song. 3914 Keats: Epis. to George Felton Mathews Thou shalt believe in Milton, Dryden, Pope; Thou shalt not set up Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey; The second drunk, the third so quaint and mouthey: 3915 Byron: Don Juan. Canto 1. St. 205 Ovid's a rake, as half his verses show him, I don't think Sappho's Ode a good example, Where the sublime soars forth on wings more ample; Lucretius' irreligion is too strong For early stomachs, to prove wholesome food; Byron: Don Juan. Canto i. Sts. 42 and 43. Nothing so difficult as a beginning In poesy, unless perhaps the end; For oftentimes when Pegasus seems winning The race, he sprains a wing, and down we tend, Being pride, which leads the mind to soar too far, Byron: Don Juan. Canto iv. St 1. All are not moralists, like Southey, when Such names at present cut a convict figure, Are good manure for their more bare biography. Byron: Don Juan. Canto iii. Sts. 93 and 94 |