made intelligent,

    Inclined to ponder tous sides

    Of difficult questions ; yet, obtuse to me,

    Of me, incurious ! likes me very well,

    And wishes me a paradise of good,

    Good looks, good means, and good digestion, -- ay,

    But ots me off

    itolerant gentleness, --

    too light a book for a grave mans reading ! Go,

    Aurora Leigh : be humble.

    t is,

    e oo apt to look to One,

    ain impotence in art.

    e strain our natures at doing somet,

    Far less because it s somet to do,

    t we, so, commend ourselves

    As being not small, and more appreciable

    to some one friend. e must ors

    Bet our  conscience and the judge ;

    Some s saints blood must quicken in our palms

    Or all the life in heaven seems slow and cold :

    Good only being perceived as the end of good,

    And God alone pleased, -- ts too poor, hink,

    And not enough for us by any means.

    Ay, Romney, I remember, told me once

    e miss tract when we comprehend.

    e miss it most when we aspire, -- and fail.

    Yet, so, I . -- this vile womans way

    Of trailing garments, s trip me up :

    I ll raffic

    In arts pure temple. Must I work in vain,

    it tion of a man ?

    It cannot be ; it s. Fame itself,

    t approbation of the general race,

    Presents a poor end, (the arrow speed,

    S straigo te,)

    And t fame was never reac

    By . Art for art,