The birds would no longer flute to us of lost loves, but of found worms; we should realise how terribly selfish they are; we could never more quote 'Hark, hark, the lark at heaven's gate sings,' or poetise with Mr. Patmore of 'the heavenly-minded thrush.
"Prose Fancies"
Richard Le Gallienne
In Canada so broad and free All poets sing of the maple tree, High I stand in their opinion, Emblem of the New Dominion, The reason I do them upbraid Some never slept beneath my shade, And yet they take the liberty To chant about the maple tree, They dare to poetise my leaf, This is the source of all my grief, I think their praises all so rude And as but base ingratitude, So often hackneyed is my name That every fall I burn with shame, Like maiden's cheek which blushes red When vain rash youth asks her to wed, Then do these foolish ones descry In me fresh beauty and they sigh, And then renew their songs of praise.
"Poems of James McIntyre"
James McIntyre
To sit at one's ease and poetise-that is a pleasure; everybody has something agreeable to say to you, and you are always your own master.
"Andersen's Fairy Tales"
Hans Christian Andersen