“The Supreme Critic on the errors of the past and the present, and the only prophet of that which must be, is that great nature in which we rest, as the earth lies in the soft arms of the atmosphere; that Unity, that Over-soul, within which every man’s particular being is contained and made one with all other.”
Poetry demands a man with a special gift for it, or else one with a touch of madness in him; the former can easily assume the required mood, and the later may be actually beside himself with emotion.