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Updated: July 29, 2025
You see for yourself that she has reached the age when she must have a husband or a lover. I respect women as much as you do, but I don't think certain relations exclude poetry. Poetry's one thing and love is another. It's just the same as it is in farming. The beauty of nature is one thing and the income from your forests or fields is quite another."
She was born to the knowledge, and scarcely thought it a matter to be proud of. "Insanity is not a fit subject for fiction," she announced positively. "There's the well-known case of Hamlet," Mr. Hilbery interposed, in his leisurely, half-humorous tones. "Ah, but poetry's different, Trevor," said Aunt Eleanor, as if she had special authority from Shakespeare to say so. "Different altogether.
"Let the rest write, those who can, and those who cannot likewise. I'll grant you an old bung from my cask that will open the cupboard where poetry's kept in bottles, and you may take from that whatever may be wanting.
Albert, Anna, Alfred, Albinus, Anton, Alma and Alvilda let me see, yes, that's the lot. None of them can say they've not been treated fairly. Father was all for A at that time; they were all to rhyme with A. Poetry's always come so easy to him." She looked admiringly at her husband. Kalle blinked his eyes in bashfulness.
But how great is this itself! how many radii thus go out from the central point God! So far does thine eye reach, so clear is thine age's horizon! Son of time, choose, who shall be thy companion? Here is thy new career! with the greatest of thy time, fly thou before thy time's generation! Like twinkling Lucifer, shine thou in time's roseate morn. Yes, in knowledge lies Poetry's California!
He was a Democrat, of fearfully pro-slavery ideas, and he replied, sententiously: "O, the poetry's tolerable, but the sentiment's damnable." The official designation of our prison was "Camp Sumpter," but this was scarcely known outside of the Rebel documents, reports and orders. It was the same way with the prison five miles from Millen, to which we were afterward transferred.
I proceeded to read aloud: "Farewell, our dear one, we must part, For thou hast gone to heavenly home, While we below with aching heart Must long for thee and ever moan." "Swell stuff," commented the sharer of my bench, with determined interest. "Poetry's a little out of my line, but I'm for it. Who wrote that?"
"Poetry's the truth of life," he hastened to add carefully, "and it's not poetry to say that you could be a kill-joy." The little lady tossed her head. "Well, you'll never have a chance to prove it, for I'm taking the express east on the night of your wedding. That's settled.
"You don't know what you're talking about," he said. "I shall never get work now. If rich people fail at one profession, they can try another. Not I. I had my groove, and I've got out of it. I could do one particular branch of insurance in one particular office well enough to command a salary, but that's all. Poetry's nothing, Miss Schlegel. One's thoughts about this and that are nothing.
Therein also lies the solution of the problems of the philosophy of life. Published in "William James and Other Essays," copyright, 1911. The words "Poetry for poetry's sake" recall the famous phrase "Art for Art." It is far from my purpose to examine the possible meanings of that phrase, or all the questions it involves.
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