A poet can survive everything but a misprint.

Tread lightly, she is near/ Under the snow,/ Speak gently, she can hear/ The daisies grow.

I have been right, Basil, haven’t I, to take my love out of poetry, and to find my wife in Shakespeare’s plays? Lips that Shakespeare taught to speak have whispered their secret in my ear. I have had the arms of Rosalind around me, and kissed Juliet on the mouth.

There are two ways of disliking poetry; one way is to dislike it, the other is to read Pope

The mimicry of passion is the most intolerable of all poses.

The gaudy leonine sunflower Hangs black and barren on its stalk, And down the windy garden walk The dead leaves scatter,- hour by hour