All that is not prose passes for poetry.
George Grabbe.
“In this fool's paradise he drank delight”
“See Time has touched me gently in his race And left no odious furrows in my face.”
“Im not a woman you bring home to Mother, pick out china patterns with, or Mary forefend, breed. Ive seen a chunk of the universe, true, but theres still so much more to see. I doubt Ill ever cure t...”
“My hope, my heaven, my trust must be,My gentle guide, in following thee.”
“Amory took to writing poetry on spring afternoons, in the gardens of the big estates near Princeton, while swans made effective atmosphere in the artificial pools, and slow clouds sailed harmonious...”