Sketches of the poetical literature of the past half-century in six lectures

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p. 277

We have occasionally the germ of fine things; but her blossoms, nipped by the canker-worm, seldom ripen into fruit. She seems never to dream of elaboration-her structures are mere walls without roofs; or, if we have these, the window-frames are left unglazed; shrubs grow in the front plot, but the wicket gate has been carelessly flung open, and the nib- bling sheep have managed to make sad work with the flowers and evergreens.