Poetry is all nouns and verbs.

Hindered characters / seldom have mothers / in Irish stories, but they all have grandmothers.

I believe verbal felicity is the fruit of ardor, of diligence, and of refusing to be false.

... imaginary gardens with real toads in them ... ... if you demand on one hand, the raw material of poetry in all its rawness and that which is on the other hand genuine, then you are interested in poetry.

We don't like flowers that do not wilt; they must die, and nine she-camel hairs aid memory.

Not till the poets among us can be "literalists of the imagination"-above insolence and triviality and can present for inspection, "imaginary gardens with real toads in them." shall we have it.

Beauty is everlasting And dust is for a time.