Douglas's longest, last, and in some respects most important work is his translation of the Aeneid, the first version of a great classic poet in any English dialect.
The consecrated wafer shared by Lohengrin and the swan on their voyage is one of the more obvious means taken by the poet to give the tale the character of an allegory of the .relations between Christ, the Church and the human soul.
And took with him to Rome his young cousin the poet Joachim du Bellay.
Eastward of the present city, amongst the mounds and ruins of the old town, in a dilapidated chamber adjoining a bluedomed building over the grave of an imamzadeh, is the tomb of the astronomer-poet Omar Khayyam, an unsightly heap of plaster without inscription, and probably fictitious.
Near it is the grave of the celebrated poet and mystic Farid ud din Attar, who was killed by the Mongols when they captured the city C. 1229.
A statue to his honour has been erected at Maros-Vasarhely, but he lives still more enduringly in the immortal verses of the patriot poet Sandor Petofi, who fell in the fatal action of the 31st of July at Segesvar.
Faringdon House, close to the church, was built by Henry James Pye (1745-1813), poet laureate from 1790 to 1813, who also caused to be planted the conspicuous group of fir-trees on the hill east of the town called Faringdon Clump, or locally (like other similar groups) the Folly.
But I remember that our great poet once said:
Then he ordered his treasurer to pay the poet five hundred pieces of gold; for, indeed, the poem which he had recited was wonderfully fine.
The poet rose and began: "Live, O caliph and enjoy thyself in the shelter of thy lofty palace."
The poet went on: May each morning bring thee some new joy.
The poet bowed his head and obeyed: "But when the hour of death comes, O my caliph, then alas! thou wilt learn that all thy delights were but a shadow."
Then one of the officers, who was sitting near the poet, cried out: Stop!
"Let the poet alone," said Raschid.
And Caedmon, the poor cowherd of the abbey, was the first great poet of England.
As described in the writing of Cicero, Simonides, a Greek poet who lived around 600 BC, was hired by a nobleman named Scopas to write a poem in his honor.
I used to have time to think, to reflect, my mind and I. We would sit together of an evening and listen to the inner melodies of the spirit, which one hears only in leisure moments when the words of some loved poet touch a deep, sweet chord in the soul that until then had been silent.
It was a wonderful, glorious song, and it won the blind poet an immortal crown, the admiration of all ages.
I had made my beloved poet weep, and I was greatly distressed.
Dear Poet, I think you will be surprised to receive a letter from a little girl whom you do not know, but I thought you would be glad to hear that your beautiful poems make me very happy.
I had a lovely letter from the poet Whittier.
Dear, Kind Poet:--I have thought of you many times since that bright Sunday when I bade you good-bye; and I am going to write you a letter, because I love you.
We shall all be proud and happy to welcome our poet friend.
It would be well, perhaps, if we were to spend more of our days and nights without any obstruction between us and the celestial bodies, if the poet did not speak so much from under a roof, or the saint dwell there so long.
I have frequently seen a poet withdraw, having enjoyed the most valuable part of a farm, while the crusty farmer supposed that he had got a few wild apples only.
The poet or the artist never yet had so fair and noble a design but some of his posterity at least could accomplish it.
He goes thither at first as a hunter and fisher, until at last, if he has the seeds of a better life in him, he distinguishes his proper objects, as a poet or naturalist it may be, and leaves the gun and fish-pole behind.
It comes on apace; my sumachs and sweetbriers tremble.--Eh, Mr. Poet, is it you?
I took a poet to board for a fortnight about those times, which caused me to be put to it for room.
But I could no longer sit and look into the fire, and the pertinent words of a poet recurred to me with new force.
A poet admires the bee sucking from the chalice of a flower and says it exists to suck the fragrance of flowers.