Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor, Most gracious singer of high poems! where The dancers will break footing, from the care Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more.

'Guess now who holds thee?'-'Death,' I said. But there The silver answer rang-'Not Death, but Love.'

Hush, call no echo up in further proof Of desolation! there's a voice within That weeps . . . as thou must sing . . . alone, aloof.

Knowledge by suffering entereth, And life is perfected by death.

My music must be an artistic reproduction of human speech in all its finest shades. That is, the sounds of human speech, as the external manifestations of thou…

Poetry: 'The most essential thing I can say of poetry is this: Good poetry does not exist merely for the sake of itself, but rather, is a byproduct of yearning…

Nature has mysterious infinities and imaginative power. It is always varying the productions it offers to us. The artist himself is one of nature's means.