Edmund Clarence Stedman Quotes
Whither away, Bluebird, Whither away? The blast is chill, yet in the upper sky Thou still canst find the color of thy wing, The hue of May. Warbler, why speed thy southern flight? ah, why, Thou too, whose song first told us of the Spring? Whither away?
The weary August days are long;
The locusts sing a plaintive song,
The cattle miss their master's call
When they see the sunset shadows fall.
O fresh-lit dawn! immortal life!
O Earth's betrothal, sweet and true!
Faith and joy are the ascensive forces of song.
Science has but one fashion--to lose nothing once gained.
Progress comes by experiment, and this from ennui that leads to voyages, wars, revolutions, and plainly to change in the arts of expression; that cries out to the imagination, and is the nurse of the invention whereof we term necessity the mother.
The poet who does not revere his art, and believe in its sovereignty, is not born to wear the purple.
The poet is a creator, not an iconoclast, and never will tamely endeavor to say in prose what can only be expressed in song.
A poet must sing for his own people.
Poetry is an art, and chief of the fine art; the easiest to dabble in, the hardest in which to reach true excellence.