forget that he has a technique at all, since he shares his tool,
language, with men of all callings whatever. He feels himself,
accordingly, to be dependent altogether upon a mysterious "visitation"
for his inspiration.

At least this mystery surrounding his creations has much to do with
removing the artist from the comparative freedom from self-consciousness
that we ascribe to the general run of men. In addition it removes him
from the comparative humility of other thinkers, who are wont to think
of their discoveries as following inevitably upon their data, so that
they themselves deserve credit only as they are persistent and
painstaking in following the clues. The genesis of Sir Isaac Newton's
discovery has been compared to poetical inspiration; yet even in this
case the difference is apparent, and Newton did not identify himself
with the universe he conceived, as the poet is in the habit of doing.

Not being able to account for his inspirations, the poet seems to be
driven inevitably either into excessive humility, since he feels that
his words are not his own, or into inordinate pride, since he feels that
he is able to see and express without volition truths that other men
cannot glimpse with the utmost effort. He may disclaim all credit for
his performance, in the words of a nineteenth-century verse-writer:

This is the end of the book
Written by God.
I am the earth he took,
I am the rod,
The iron and wood which he struck
With his sounding rod.
[Footnote: L. E. Mitchell, _Written at the End of a Book._]