Beneath the trees,
    Ten thousand dancing in the breeze. 
    The waves beside them danced, but they
    Outdid the sparkling waves in glee.

Can expression be more distinct?  And let me ask your friend how it is possible for flowers to be reflected in water where there are waves?  They may, indeed, in still water; but the very object of my poem is the trouble or agitation, both of the flowers and the water.  I must needs respect the understanding of every one honoured by your friendship; but sincerity compels me to say that my poems must be more nearly looked at, before they can give rise to any remarks of much value, even from the strongest minds.  With respect to this individual poem, Lady B. will recollect how Mrs. Fermor expressed herself upon it.  A letter also was sent to me, addressed to a friend of mine, and by him communicated to me, in which this identical poem was singled out for fervent approbation.  What then shall we say?  Why, let the poet first consult his own heart, as I have done, and leave the rest to posterity,—­to, I hope, an improving posterity.  The fact is, the English public are at this moment in the same state of mind with respect to my poems, if small things may be compared with great, as the French are in respect to Shakspeare, and not the French alone, but almost the whole Continent.  In short, in your friend’s letter, I am condemned for the very thing for which I ought to have been praised, viz., that I have not written down to the level of superficial observers and unthinking minds.  Every great poet is a teacher:  I wish either to be considered as a teacher, or as nothing.

To turn to a more pleasing subject.  Have you painted anything else beside this picture from ‘Peter Bell’?  Your two oil-paintings (and, indeed, everything I have of yours) have been much admired by the artists who have seen them.  And, for our own parts, we like them better every day; this, in particular, is the case with the small picture from the neighbourhood of Coleorton, which, indeed, pleased me much at the first sight, but less impressed the rest of our household, who now see as many beauties in it as I do myself.  Havill, the water-colour painter, was much pleased with these things; he is painting at Ambleside, and has done a view of Rydal Water, looking down upon it from Rydal Park, of which I should like to know your opinion; it will be exhibited in the Spring, in the water-colour Exhibition.  I have purchased a black-lead pencil sketch of Mr. Green, of Ambleside, which, I think, has great merit, the materials being uncommonly picturesque, and well put together:  I should dearly like to have the same subject (it is the cottage at Glencoign, by Ulleswater) treated by you.  In the poem I have just written, you will find one situation which, if the work should ever become familiarly known, would furnish as fine a subject for a picture as any thing I remember in poetry ancient or modern.  I need not mention what it is, as when you read the poem you cannot miss it.  We have at last had, by the same post, two letters from Coleridge, long and melancholy; and also, from Keswick, an account so depressing as to the state of his health, that I should have set off immediately to London, to see him, if I had not myself been confined by indisposition.