„Nay, if there’s room for poets in the worldA little overgrown, (I think there is)Their sole work is to represent the age,Their age, not Charlemagne’s, — this live, throbbing age,That brawls, cheats, maddens, calculates, aspires,And spends more passion, more heroic heat,Betwixt the mirrors of its drawing-rooms,Than Roland with his knights, at Roncesvalles.“

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