We are often prompted to speak our thoughts to our neighbors, or
the single travellers whom we meet on the road, but poetry is a
communication from our home and solitude addressed to all
Intelligence. It never whispers in a private ear. Knowing this,
we may understand those sonnets said to be addressed to
particular persons, or "To a Mistress's Eyebrow." Let none feel
flattered by them. For poetry write love, and it will be equally
true.
No doubt it is an important difference between men of genius or
poets, and men not of genius, that the latter are unable to grasp
and confront the thought which visits them. But it is because it
is too faint for expression, or even conscious impression. What
merely quickens or retards the blood in their veins and fills
their afternoons with pleasure they know not whence, conveys a
distinct assurance to the finer organization of the poet.
We talk of genius as if it were a mere knack, and the poet could
only express what other men conceived. But in comparison with
his task, the poet is the least talented of any; the writer of
prose has more skill.
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