The passion to condense from book to book Unbroken wisdom in a single look, Though we know well that when this fix the head, The mind's immortal, but the man is dead. — Yvor Winters Copy Share Image
Even though poetry was written for the 'minds ear' as well as the physical ear, the minds ear can be trained only by the… — Yvor Winters Copy Share Image
The land is numb. It stands beneath the feet, and one may come Walking securely, till the sea extends Its limber margin, and precision… — Yvor Winters Copy Share Image
By practice and conviction formed, With ancient stubbornness ingrained, Although her body clung and swarmed, My own identity remained. — Yvor Winters Copy Share Image
Far out of sight forever stands the sea, Bounding the land with pale tranquillity. — Yvor Winters Copy Share Image
“And when I found your flesh did not resist, It was the living spirit that I kissed.” — YVOR WINTERS Copy Share Image
And one rose in a tent of sea and gave A darkening shudder; water fell away; The whale stood shining, and then sank in… — Yvor Winters Copy Share Image
Professors of literature, who for the most part are genteel but mediocre men, can make but a poor defense of their profession, and the… — Yvor Winters Copy Share Image
Gascoigne, Ben Jonson, Greville, Raleigh, Donne, Poets who wrote great poems, one by one, And spaced by many years, each line an act Through… — Yvor Winters Copy Share Image
The rain of matter upon sense Destroys me momently. The score: There comes what will come. — Yvor Winters Copy Share Image
The passion to condense from book to book Unbroken wisdom in a single look, Though we know well that when this fix the head,… — Yvor Winters Copy Share Image
“To say that a poet is justified in employing a disintegrating form in order to express a feeling of disintegration, is merely a sophistical… — Yvor Winters Copy Share Image
Far out of sight forever standsthe sea, Bounding the land with pale tranquillity. — Yvor Winters Copy Share Image
Reptilian green the wrinkled throat, Green as a bough of yew the beard; He bent his head, and so I smote — Yvor Winters Copy Share Image
What I desire of a poem is a clear understanding of motive, and a just evaluation of feeling A poem in the first place… — Yvor Winters Copy Share Image
