What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
What can be explained is not poetry. — W.B. Yeats
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What can be explained is not poetry.

— W.B. Yeats
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More “Poetry” Quotes

My life was a blank paper, until you came to rhyme with words & make it a poetry book. ❤ ❤ — Akansh Malik
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Linear’s defeated form The intangible reality rise.'' ~ Wanderer — Stella Coulson, Wanderer: Dark Poetry
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Dancing to the sounds of trees and stones and slow minutes ticking in our hearts and bones. — Jay Woodman
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Those lips that Love's own hand did makeBreathed forth the sound that said, 'I hate'To me that languished for her sake,B — William Shakespeare, The Sonnets and A Lover's Complaint
Never durst a poet touch a pen to writeUntil his ink was tempered with love's sighs. — William Shakespeare, Love's Labour's Lost
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My wild heart craves shadows. Like a bat unfurling its wings, I open myself to darkness; I open myself to truth. — Nichole McElhaney, Poetry for Feral Faeries and Rogue Princesses