Thy lips do seem a falling whirlpool; They draw all twisting down within. Forgive my fleeting glance, I’m but a fool. I mean not my eyes to sin, Nor on thee lust thy flesh to win. Yet thy hair downward floweth in cascade Into my eyes’ open sight. Thou graspest thy locks to tie thy …

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The Origins of Poetry

Paintings of animals at Laxcaux

This is the second essay of an essay series on the fundamentals of poetry. They are all brief and not exhaustive, but simply some rambling thoughts on each of a few points. This essay concerns the origins of poetry. “Poetry is ever accompanied with pleasure.”1 Note, Shelley does not say poetry is merely “pleasant” or …

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