济慈诗歌和书信选(英文版)19 To Richard Woodhouse, 27 October 1818

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　　My dear Woodhouse,

　　The best answer I can give you is in a clerk-like manner to make some observations on two principle points, which seem to point like indices into the midst of the whole pro¹ and con², about genius, and views and achievements and ambition and cetera. 1st. As to the poetical³ Character itself (I mean that sort of which, if I am any thing, I am a Member; that sort distinguished⁴ from the Wordsworthian or egotistical sublime⁵; which is a thing per se and stands alone) it is not itself - it has no self - it is every thing and nothing - It has no character - it enjoys light and shade; it lives in gusto, be it foul⁶ or fair, high or low, rich or poor, mean or elevated - It has as much delight in conceiving an Iago as an Imogen. What shocks the virtuous⁷ philosopher, delights the camelion Poet. It does no harm from its relish⁸ of the dark side of things any more than from its taste for the bright one; because they both end in speculation⁹. A Poet is the most unpoetical of any thing in existence; because he has no Identity - he is continually in for - and filling some other Body - The Sun, the Moon, the Sea and Men and Women who are creatures of impulse are poetical and have about them an unchangeable attribute - the poet has none; no identity - he is certainly the most unpoetical of all God's Creatures. If then he has no self, and if I am a Poet, where is the Wonder that I should say I would write no more? Might I not at that very instant have been cogitating¹⁰ on the Characters of Saturn¹¹ and Ops?

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