“Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.”
There was a little silence. Then he said abruptly:
“Do you know Wordsworth’s definition of a poet? Take it down. I should like you to use it.”
I pulled out my note-book and wrote in shorthand from his dictation a sublime phrase, which was new to me: “A Poet is a MAN speaking to MEN.”
“This man,” said Dr. Caliban simply, “is a man speaking to men.”
He put the book into my hands; two or three of the leaves were turned down, and on each page so marked was a passage scored in pencil. The lines would have arrested my eye even, had a greater mind than my own not selected them.
“A woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke.”