Book, Chapter

1    1,   9|         home of the sirens, with poetry let him beguile~The years
2    1,  27|         When he had finished his poetry, he slobbered a most evil-smelling
3    3,  98|      prefer to have you spouting poetry! I am hot-tempered and you
4    4, 113|          returned at last to his poetry and recited this little
5    4, 119|         could find time to write poetry at death's very door, we
6    4, 122|         who have been seduced by poetry; for, the instant a man
7    4, 122| sanctuary in the tranquillity of poetry, as a more sheltered haven,
8    4, 122|  discover the road that leads to poetry, or, having seen, they feared