I Would Not Venture To Dispraise Or Praise. Too Well I Know The Indifference Which Bounds A Poet In The Narrow Working-Grounds Where He Is Blind And Deaf In All His Ways. He Must Work Out Alone His Path To Glory; A Thousand Breaths Are Fanning Him Along; A Thousand Tears End In One Little Song, A Thousand Conflicts In One Little Story; A Thousand Notes Swell To A Single Chord. He Cannot Tell Where His Direction Tends; He Strives Unguided Towards Indefinite Ends; He Is An Ignorant Though Absolute Lord.