The fatal facility of the octosyllabic verse.

She was a form of life and light That seen, became a part of sight, And rose, where'er I turn'd mine eye, The morning-star of memory! Yes, love indeed is light…

Oh who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried.

I die-but first I have possessed, And come what may, I have been blessed.

He cursed Petrarch for redacting verses to sonnets, which he said were like that tyrant's bed, where some who were too short were racked, others too long cut s…

When you write a poem, you discover that the very necessity of fitting your meaning into such and such a form requires you to search in your imagination for ne…

The first man to compare the cheeks of a young woman to a rose was obviously a poet; the first to repeat it was possibly an idiot.