In prose, the general distribution and composition of the matter belong to the reign of Necessity. The order of the parts, and the connexion of part with part, are obliged--logically justifiable--say, then, are demonstrable. See an Oration of Demosthenes. In verse, that distribution and composition belong to the reign of Liberty. That order and connexion are arbitrary--passionately justifiable--say, then, are delectable. See an Ode of Pindar. SEWARD. Publish--publish. NORTH. In prose the style is last--in verse first; in prose the sense controls the sound--in verse the sound the sense; in prose you speak--in verse you sing; in prose you live in the abstract--in verse in the concrete; in prose you present notions--in verse visions; in prose you expound--in verse you enchant; in prose it is much if now and then you are held in the sphere of the fascinated senses--in verse if of the calm understanding. BULLER. Will you have the goodness, sir, to say all that over again? NORTH. I have forgot it. The lines in the countenance of Prose are austere. The look is shy, reserved, governed--like the fixed steady lineaments of mountains. The hues that suffuse the face of her sister Verse vary faster than those with which the western or the eastern sky momently reports the progress of the sinking, of the fallen, but not yet lost, of the coming or of the risen sun. BULLER. I have jotted that down, sir. NORTH. And I hope you will come to understand it. Candidly speaking, 'tis more than I do. SEWARD. I do perfectly--and it is as true as beautiful, sir. BULLER. Equally so. NORTH. I venerate Wordsworth. Wordsworth's poetry stands distinct in the world. That which to other men is an occasional pleasure, or possibly delight, and to other poets an occasional transport, THE SEEING THIS VISIBLE UNIVERSE, is to him--a Life--one Individual Human Life--namely, his Own--travelling its whole Journey from the Cradle to the Grave. And that Life--for what else could he do with it?--he has versified--sung. And there is no other such Song. It is a Memorable Fact of our Civilisation--a Memorable Fact in the History of Human Kind--that one perpetual song. Perpetual but infinitely various--as a river of a thousand miles, traversing, from its birthplace in the mountains, diverse regions, wild and inhabited, to the ocean-receptacle. BULLER. Confoundedly prosaic at times. NORTH. He, more than any other true poet, approaches Verse to Prose--never, I believe, or hardly ever, quite blends them. BULLER. Often--often--often, my dear sir. NORTH.