If we examine a work of ordinary art, by means of a powerful microscope, all traces of resemblance to nature will disappear – but the closest scrutiny of the photogenic drawing discloses only a more absolute truth, a more perfect identity of aspect with the thing represented.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.
I never can hear a crowd of people singing and gesticulating, all together, at an Italian opera, without fancying myself at Athens, listening to that particular tragedy, by Sophocles, in which he introduces a full chorus of turkeys, who set about bewailing the death of Mel eager.
Were the succession of stars endless, then the background of the sky would present us a uniform luminosity, like that displayed by the Galaxy-since there could be absolutely no point, in all that background, at which would not exist a star. The only mode, therefore, in which, under such a state of affairs, we could comprehend the voids which our telescopes find in innumerable directions, would be by supposing the distance of the invisible background so immense that no ray from it has yet been able to reach us at all.
Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence– whether much that is glorious– whether all that is profound– does not spring from disease of thought– from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect.
The nose of a mob is its imagination. By this, at any time, it can be quietly led.
In the one instance, the dreamer loses sight of this object in a wilderness of deductions and suggestionsuntilhe finds the incitement, or first cause of his musings, forgotten. In my case, the primary object was invariably frivolous, although assuming, through the medium of my distempered vision, a refracted and unreal importance.
Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.
All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry.
The word “Verse” is used here as the term most convenient for expressing, and without pedantry, all that is involved in the consideration of rhythm, rhyme, meter, and versification… the subject is exceedingly simple; one tenth of it, possibly may be called ethical; nine tenths, however, appertains to the mathematics.
We loved with a love that was more than love.
It is clear that a poem may be improperly brief. Undue brevity degenerates into mere epigrammatism. A very short poem, while now and then producing a brilliant or vivid, never produces a profound or enduring, effect. There must be the steady pressing down of the stamp upon the wax.
Gaily bedight, a gallant knight, in sunshine and in shadow, had journeyed long, Singing a song, In search of Eldorado. But he grew old— This knight so bold— And o’er his heart a shadow— Fell as he found No spot of ground That looked like Eldorado. And, as his strength Failed him at length, He met a pilgrim shadow— ‘Shadow,’ said he, ‘Where can it be— This land of Eldorado?’ ‘Over the Mountains of the Moon, Down the Valley of the Shadow, Ride, boldly ride,’ The shade replied, — ‘If you seek for Eldorado!
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride, In the sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea.
Hear the mellow wedding bells, Golden bells! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight! From the molten golden notes, and all in tune What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens while she gloats On the moon!
The death of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.
From a proud tower in the town, Death looks gigantically down.
There are two bodies – the rudimentary and the complete; corresponding with the two conditions of the worm and the butterfly. What we call “death,” is but the painful metamorphosis. Our present incarnation is progressive, preparatory, temporary. Our future is perfected, ultimate, immortal. The ultimate life is the full design.