Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Poetry Quote of the Day: Oscar Wilde

I've posted several deep and serious quotes about poetry.  Today, I'm in the mood for Oscar Wilde.

"A poet can survive everything but a misprint." ~Oscar Wilde

What if Wordsworth had to suffer seeing:  "I wandered lonely as a clod"

Or Emily, this fumble:  "Because I could not stop for Death,  He kindly stopped for tea;"

Leave your fatal misprints in the comments. 

This post is part of my Poetry Quote a Day series for National Poetry Month.


  1. This is just to say I ate the thumbs that were in the icebox.

  2. Oh, Jama, no fair to make me choke on my coffee this morning. HAHAHA! Evil typo! Thanks. :)

  3. Fun, and I really LOVE the E.B. White quote on your masthead! I had to copy it down into my journal!

  4. Correction (so WCW doesn't turn in his grave):

    "This is just to say I have eaten the thumbs that were in the icebox . . . "

    Now I'm having these fantasies about Little Jack Horner, too. See what you started?

  5. If I were my father responding to this (and with apologies to Walt) --

    "I sound my barbaric belch over the roofs of the world."

  6. Heh, heh... Sorry, Walt, but Jules IS pretty funny. I've never been an excellent belcher, but now I want to be, just so I can try out that line in all its glory. :)

    Lee, isn't that E.B. quote a great one? Obviously, I love it or it wouldn't be up there, but I'm glad you have possession of it now, too!

  7. In the word of poetic typos, George Herbert's Virtue might read,
    Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave
    Bids the rash geezer wipe his eye,
    Thy root is ever in its grave,
    And thou must die...
    Robert Frost would cringe as:
    "Two toads divulged in a yellow wood..."

    And "When you are old and gray and full of sheep..." would leave Yeats yelling.

  8. Tanita! Remind me never to let YOU typeset one of my poems. Two toads . . . BWHAHAHA! Poor Frost. And Yeats and George Herbert. I think you've killed them all.

  9. Okay, you actually made me look for famous poems to mess up - and I'm not even good at this game. (But it is deadly quiet at the library this evening.) I found a good Robert Burns:

    O my Luve's like a red, red nose

    Allergy season, I guess.

  10. Thanks for doing your research, MR. Poor Luve, of the red, red nose. *sniff* As least MR cares.


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