There are few men, ordinarily educated, who in moments of strong
feeling could not strike out a poetical thought, and afterwards
polish it so as to be presentable. But men of sense know better
than so to waste their time; and those who sincerely love poetry,
know the touch of the master's hand on the chords too well to
fumble among them after him. Nay, more than this, all inferior
poetry is an injury to the good, inasmuch as it takes away the
freshness of rhymes, blunders upon and gives a wretched commonalty
to good thoughts; and, in general, adds to the weight of human
weariness in a most woful and culpable manner. There are few
thoughts likely to come across ordinary men, which have not already
been expressed by greater men in the best possible way; and it is a
wiser, more generous, more noble thing to remember and point out
the perfect words, than to invent poorer ones, wherewith to
encumber temporarily the world. [Ruskin.]
[56] _Inferno_, 3. 112.
[57] _Christabel_, 1. 49-50.
[58] "Well said, old mole! can'st work i' the ground so
fast?"--[Ruskin.]
[59] _Odyssey_, 11. 57-58.
[60] It is worth while comparing the way a similar question is put
by the exquisite sincerity of Keats:--
He wept, and his bright tears
Went trickling down the golden bow he held.
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