Whatever of true life there is in thee leaps in our age’s veins.
Wield still thy bent and wrinkled empery.
And shaken thine idle chains –
To thee thy dross is clinging.
For us
thy martyrs die
thy prophets see,
Thy poets still singing!
- Anonymous
“Poetry is the shadow cast by our streetlight imaginations.” ― Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason.” ― Novalis
