Such a pious and horrible lyric as "The Heretic's Tragedy," for instance, is absolutely original, with its weird and almost blood-curdling echo verses, mocking echoes indeed-- "And dipt of his wings in Paris square, They bring him now to lie burned alive.
_[And wanteth there grace of lute or clavicithern, ye shall say to confirm him who singeth_-- We bring John now to be burned alive." A hundred instances might, of course, be given.

Milton's "Sonnet on his Blindness," or Keats's "Ode on a Grecian Urn," are both thoroughly original, but still we can point to other such sonnets and other such odes.

But can any one mention any poem of exactly the same structural and literary type as "Fears and Scruples," as "The Householder," as "House" or "Shop," as "Nationality in Drinks," as "Sibrandus Schafnaburgensis," as "My Star," as "A Portrait," as any of "Ferishtah's Fancies," as any of the "Bad Dreams." The thing which ought to be said about Browning by those who do not enjoy him is simply that they do not like his form; that they have studied the form, and think it a bad form.

If more people said things of this sort, the world of criticism would gain almost unspeakably in clarity and common honesty.

Browning put himself before the world as a good poet.