I spent most of the next day
with her, reading the letters of Keats to her father, some of which were
at that time unpublished, poring over torn yellow leaves and faded scraps
of paper, and wondering at the little Dante in which Keats had written
those marvellous notes on Milton. Some months afterwards, when I was in
California, I received a letter from Mrs. Speed asking my acceptance of
the original manuscript of the sonnet which I had quoted in my lecture.
This manuscript I have had reproduced here, as it seems to me to possess
much psychological interest. It shows us the conditions that preceded
the perfected form, the gradual growth, not of the conception but of the
expression, and the workings of that spirit of selection which is the
secret of style. In the case of poetry, as in the case of the other
arts, what may appear to be simply technicalities of method are in their
essence spiritual not mechanical, and although, in all lovely work, what
concerns us is the ultimate form, not the conditions that necessitate
that form, yet the preference that precedes perfection, the evolution of
the beauty, and the mere making of the music, have, if not their artistic
value, at least their value to the artist.

It will be remembered that this sonnet was first published in 1848 by
Lord Houghton in his _Life_, _Letters_, _and Literary Remains of John
Keats_. Lord Houghton does not definitely state where he found it, but
it was probably among the Keats manuscripts belonging to Mr. Charles
Brown. It is evidently taken from a version later than that in my
possession, as it accepts all the corrections, and makes three
variations. As in my manuscript the first line is torn away, I give the
sonnet here as it appears in Lord Houghton's edition.

ANSWER TO A SONNET ENDING THUS:

Dark eyes are dearer far
Than those that make the hyacinthine bell. {5}

By J. H. REYNOLDS.

Blue! 'Tis the life of heaven,--the domain
Of Cynthia,--the wide palace of the sun,--
The tent of Hesperus and all his train,--
The bosomer of clouds, gold, grey and dun.
Blue! 'Tis the life of waters--ocean
And all its vassal streams: pools numberless
May rage, and foam, and fret, but never can
Subside if not to dark-blue nativeness.
Blue! gentle cousin of the forest green,
Married to green in all the sweetest flowers,
For