"Come and hire me," I cried, while in the morning I was walking on the stone-paved road. Sword in hand, the King came in his chariot. He held my hand and said, "I will hire you with my power." But his power counted for nought, and he went away in his chariot. In the heat of the midday the houses stood with shut doors. I wandered along the crooked lane. An old man came out with his bag of gold. He pondered and said, "I will hire ...

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"Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air.  Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable.  Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away. " - Carl Sandburg, Poetry Considered "Out of the quarrel with others we make rhetoric; out of the quarrel with ourselves we make poetry." - W.B. Yeats "The distinction between historian and poet is not ...

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I met Louisa in the shade, And, having seen that lovely Maid, Why should I fear to say That, nymph-like, she is fleet and strong, And down the rocks can leap along Like rivulets in May? She loves her fire, her cottage-home; Yet o'er the moorland will she roam In weather rough and bleak; And, when against the wind she strains, Oh! might I kiss the mountain rains That sparkle on her cheek. Take all that's mine "beneath the moon," If I with her but half a noon May sit beneath the walls Of some ...

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