.. and the state of mind produced is at war with every base
desire. The _enthusiasm_ of virtue, love, patriotism, and friendship is
essentially linked with such emotions; and whilst they last, self
appears as what it is--an atom in the universe." Every word italicised
above by me carries Shelley's witness that Poetry and joyous emotion are
inseparable. "Poetry," he winds up, "redeems from decay the visitations
of the Divinity in Man." How can we dissociate from joy the news of such
visitations either on the lips that carry or in the ears that receive?
Yet, as has been hinted, the very simplicity of it puzzles the ordinary
man, and not only puzzles the philosopher but exasperates him. It annoys
the philosopher, first, that the poet apparently takes so little
trouble. (As a fact he takes endless trouble; but, to be sure, he saves
an immense deal by going the right way to work.) All knowledge is
notoriously painful (that is to say, to philosophers). Moreover, the
fellow mixes it up with emotion (an integral part of man which
philosophy ignores, and stultifies itself, as a rule, by ignoring). He
is one with the Oracles, a suspected tribe. He idles like an Oracle,
attending on inspiration, and when he has received the alleged afflatus,
the fellow--so different from us--is neither to hold nor to bind.
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