Yup, believe it: I was born on March 28, yet my name is April.
I think poetry without metaphor is like husband and wife living in separate bedrooms.
A rich person is just a poor person with a crown and elaborate clothing, and a poor person is just a rich person with a crownless head and ragged clothing.
The explorer who will not come back or send back his ships to tell his tale is not an explorer, only an adventurer; and his sons are born in exile.
With domineering hand she moves the turning wheel,Like currents in a treacherous bay swept to and fro:Her ruthless will has just deposed once fearful kingsWhile trustless still, from low she lifts a c...