Every Intellectual Product Must Be Judged From

She Is Older Than The Rocks Among Which She Sits; Like The Vampire, She Has Been Dead Many Times, And Learned The Secrets Of The Grave; And Has Been A Diver In Deep Seas, And Keeps Their Fallen Day About Her; And Trafficked For Strange Webs With Eastern Merchants, And, As Leda, Was The Mother Of Helen Of Troy, And, As Saint Anne, The Mother Of Mary; And All This Has Been To Her But As The Sound Of Lyres And Flutes, And Lives Only In The Delicacy With Which It Has Molded The Changing Lineaments, And Tinged The Eyelids And The Hands.

All Art Constantly Aspires To The Condition Of Music....in Its Ideal, Consummate Moments, The End Is Not Distinct From The Means, The Form From The Matter, The Subject From The Expression; They Inhere In And Completely Saturate Each Other.

Why Do You Always Write Poetry? Why Do You Not Write Prose? Prose Is So Much More Difficult.

That Sense Of A Life In Natural Objects, Which In Most Poetry Is But A Rhetorical Artifice, Was, Then, In Wordsworth The Assertion Of What Was For Him Almost Literal Fact.

The Base Of All Artistic Genius Is The Power Of Conceiving Humanity In A New, Striking, Rejoicing Way, Of Putting A Happy World Ofits Own Creation In Place Of The Meaner World Of Common Days, Of Generating Around Itself An Atmosphere With A Novel Power Of Refraction, Selecting, Transforming, Recombining The Images It Transmits, According To The Choice Of The Imaginative Intellect. In Exercising This Power, Painting And Poetry Have A Choice Of Subject Almost Unlimited.