I have full oft
In singers' selves found me a theme of song,
Holding these also to be very part
Of Nature's greatness, and accounting not
Their descants least heroical of deeds.

The poem _Wordsworth's Grave_ not only expresses, as no one else
has expressed, the quality of Wordsworth's genius, but in single lines
assigned to each, the same service is done for Milton, Shakespeare,
Shelley, Coleridge, and Byron. This is a matchless illustration of the
kind of criticism that is in itself genius; for we may quarrel with
Mr. Spingarn as much as we please on his general dogmatic principle of
the identity of genius and taste; here we have so admirable an example
of what he means by creative criticism, that it is a pity he did not
think of it himself. "For it still remains true," says Mr. Spingarn,
"that the aesthetic critic, in his moments of highest power, rises to
heights where he is at one with, the creator whom he is interpreting.
At that moment criticism and 'creation' are one."

All great poets have the power of noble indignation, a divine wrath
against wickedness in high places. The poets, like the prophets of
old, pour out their irrepressible fury against what they believe to be
cruelty and oppression. Milton's magnificent Piedmont sonnet is a
glorious roar of righteous rage; and since his time the poets have
ever been the spokesmen for the insulted and injured. Robert Burns,
more than most statesmen, helped to make the world safe for democracy.
I do not know what humanity would do without its poets--they are the
champions of the individual against the tyranny of power, the cruel
selfishness of kings, and the artificial conventions of society. We