It is chiefly the pleasure of the understanding called to solve with excitement a huddle of metaphysical problems.

They have the name but not the nature of poetry.
They are the work of my Lord Intelligence--attended by wit and fancy--who sits at the desk of poetry, and with her pen in his hand.

He uses the furniture of poetry, but the goddess herself has left the room.
Yet something of her influence still fills the air of the chamber.

In the midst of the brilliant display that fancy, wit, and intellect are making, a soft steady light of pure song burns briefly at intervals, and then is quenched; like the light of stars seen for a moment of quiet effulgence among the crackling and dazzling of fireworks.
The poems are, it is true, original.

We cannot class them with any previous poetry.