if this were not so, never forget what, I believe, was observed to you by Coleridge, that every great and original writer, in proportion as he is great or original, must himself create the taste by which he is to be relished; he must teach the art by which he is to be seen; this, in a certain degree, even to all persons, however wise and pure may be their lives, and however unvitiated their taste.  But for those who dip into books in order to give an opinion of them, or talk about them to take up an opinion—­for this multitude of unhappy and misguided, and misguiding beings, an entire regeneration must be produced; and if this be possible, it must be a work of time.  To conclude, my ears are stone-dead to this idle buzz, and my flesh as insensible as iron to these petty stings; and after what I have said, I am sure yours will be the same.  I doubt not that you will share with me an invincible confidence that my writings (and among them these little poems) will co-operate with the benign tendencies in human nature and society, wherever found; and that they will in their degree be efficacious in making men wiser, better, and happier.  Farewell.  I will not apologize for this letter, though its length demands an apology....

TO SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT

The language of poetry

[c. 1807.]

MY DEAR SIR GEORGE,

I am quite delighted to hear of your picture for Peter Bell; I was much pleased with the sketch, and I have no doubt that the picture will surpass it as far as a picture ought to do.  I long much to see it.  I should approve of any engraver approved by you.  But remember that no poem of mine will ever be popular; and I am afraid that the sale of Peter would not carry the expense of the engraving, and that the poem, in the estimation of the public, would be a weight upon the print.  I say not this in modest disparagement of the poem, but in sorrow for the sickly taste of the public in verse.  The people would love the poem of Peter Bell, but the public (a very different being) will never love it.  Thanks for dear Lady B.’s transcript from your friend’s letter; it is written with candour, but I must say a word or two not in praise of it.  ‘Instances of what I mean,’ says your friend, ‘are to be found in a poem on a Daisy’ (by the by, it is on the Daisy, a mighty difference!) ’and on Daffodils reflected in the Water’.  Is this accurately transcribed by Lady Beaumont?  If it be, what shall we think of criticism or judgement founded upon, and exemplified by, a poem which must have been so inattentively perused?  My language is precise; and, therefore, it would be false modesty to charge myself with blame.

  Beneath the trees,
  Ten thousand dancing in the breeze. 
  The waves beside them danced, but they
  Outdid the sparkling waves in glee.