The artist must be born beautiful and elegant; for he that worships beauty must not be unfair himself. And it is assuredly [?] a terrible pain for an artist to find not at all in himself that which he strives for. Who, looking at the portrait of Shelley, of Keats, of Byron, of Milton and of Poe, can wonder that these were poets. All were beautiful, all were beloved and admired, all had in love warmth of land heavenly joy, as far as any poet, or indeed any man can have.