Sublime

Jeff,

‘You are a poem – and that is to be the best part of a poet – what makes up the poet’s consciousness in his best moods,’ said Will, showing such originality as we all share with the morning and the spring-time and other endless renewals.

Lydgate thought that after all his wild mistakes and absurd credulity, he had found perfect womanhood – felt as if already breathed upon by exquisite wedded affection such as would be bestowed by an accomplished creature who venerated his high musings and momentous labours and would never interfere with them; who would create order in the home and

As T. S. Eliot wrote, in a brilliant and painstaking way: I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope, For hope would be hope for the wrong thing: wait without love for love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.

Sibyl—if