human
We shall never know just what it was that sang so gloriously. But, Mary, what do you think is most like it?
gpt
A poet, she answered.
human
There is nothing so like it as a poet wrapt in his own sweet thoughts and singing till the world is made to sing with him for very joy.
gpt
And I, said he,
human
And I, said she,
gpt
You speak well, Mary, said he;
human
I do not like the comparison so well, was the answer.
gpt
Yet, after all, there is nothing so like it as a poet--as yourself, for instance.
human
No poet ever had its skill, because no poet was ever so free from care, said Shelley, sadly.
gpt
It is like an unbodied joy floating unrestrained whithersoever it will. Ah, Mary, if I had but half the gladness that this bird or spirit must know, I would write such poetry as would bewitch the world, and all men would listen, entranced, to my song.
human
To a Skylark.