And Chaucer, with his infantine Familiar clasp of things divine.

There Shakespeare, on whose forehead climb The crowns o' the world; oh, eyes sublime With tears and laughter for all time!

And Marlowe, Webster, Fletcher, Ben, Whose fire-hearts sowed our furrows when The world was worthy of such men.

The cypress stood up like a church That night we felt our love would hold, And saintly moonlight seemed to search And wash the whole world clean as gold; The o…

Persian Sufi poetry is animated by a vision of divine beauty-that beauty which is in the words of Keats, 'a joy forever.' This beauty is also, in the theologic…

Our poetry in the eighteenth century was prose; our prose in the seventeenth, poetry.

I am not ashamed to admit that I belong to those who fantasize that literature is capable of bringing new horizons and new perspectives - philosophical, religi…