took;

thus taking up again the reader with whom I began, letting him know how
long I must have watched this favourite vessel, and inviting him to rest
his mind as mine is resting.

Having said so much upon mere fourteen lines, which Mrs. Fermor did not
approve, I cannot but add a word or two upon my satisfaction in finding
that my mind has so much in common with hers, and that we participate so
many of each other's pleasures. I collect this from her having singled
out the two little poems, 'The Daffodils,' and 'The Rock crowned with
Snowdrops.' I am sure that whoever is much pleased with either of these
quiet and tender delineations must be fitted to walk through the
recesses of my poetry with delight, and will there recognise, at every
turn, something or other in which, and over which, it has that property
and right which knowledge and love confer. The line,

Come, blessed barrier, &c.

in the 'Sonnet upon Sleep,' which Mrs. F. points out, had before been
mentioned to me by Coleridge, and, indeed, by almost every body who had
heard it, as eminently beautiful. My letter (as this second sheet, which
I am obliged to take, admonishes me) is growing to an enormous length;
and yet, saving that I have expressed my calm confidence that these
poems will live, I have said nothing which has a particular application
to the object of it, which was to remove all disquiet from your mind on
account of the condemnation they may at present incur from that portion
of my contemporaries who are called the public. I am sure, my dear Lady
Beaumont, if you attach any importance to it, it can only be from an
apprehension that it may affect me, upon which I have already set you at
ease; or from a fear that this present blame is ominous of their future
or final destiny. If this be the case, your tenderness for me betrays
you. Be assured that the decision of these persons has nothing to do
with the question; they are altogether incompetent judges. These people,
in the senseless hurry of their idle lives, do not _read_ books, they
merely snatch a glance at them, that they may talk about them. And even
if this were not so, never forget what, I believe, was observed to you
by Coleridge, that every great and original writer, in proportion as he
is great or original, must himself create the taste by which he is to be
relished; he must teach the art by which he is to be seen; this, in a
certain degree, even to all persons, however wise and pure