No one can deny that this is a modest preface; it is in fact too modest, and concedes to the adversary the utmost which could possibly be at issue, viz., whether the poem was worth publishing or not. The only scintilla of self-assertion in it is the hope expressed-"_some_ hope"--that the writer might eventually produce "verses fit to live;" and less than that no man who puts a poem before the public could be expected to postulate. Keats must therefore be expressly acquitted of having done anything to excite animosity or retaliation on the part of his critics; the sole thing which could be attacked was the poem itself--too frankly pronounced indefensible--or else something in the author which did not appear within the covers of his volume. The preface is indeed manly as well as modest; there is not a servile or obsequious word in it; yet I cannot help thinking that Keats, when later on he found "Endymion" denounced as drivel, must at times have wished that he had been a little less deferential to Reynolds's objections, and had not so explicitly admitted that not one of the four books of the poem was qualified to "pass the press." An adverse reviewer was sure to take advantage of that admission, and did so. It would be interesting to compare with the preface which Keats printed for "Endymion" the one which Shelley printed for "The Revolt of Islam." Shelley, like Keats, was modest; he left his readers to settle any question as to his poetic claims (although "Alastor," previously published, might pretty well have vouched for these); but he resolutely explained that reviewers would find in him no subject for bullying. I can only make room for a few sentences:-- "The experience and the feelings to which I refer do not in themselves constitute men poets, but only prepare them to be the auditors of those who are. How far I shall be found to possess that more essential attribute of poetry, the power of awakening in others sensations like those which animate my own bosom, is that which, to speak sincerely, I know not, and which, with an acquiescent and contented spirit, I expect to be taught by the effect which I shall produce upon those whom I now address.... It is the misfortune of this age that its writers, too thoughtless of immortality, are exquisitely sensible to temporary praise or blame. They write with the fear of reviews before their eyes. This system of criticism sprang up in that torpid interval when poetry was not. Poetry, and the art which professes to regulate and limit its powers, cannot subsist together.... I have sought, therefore, to write (as I believe that Homer, Shakespeare, and Milton wrote) in utter disregard of anonymous censure."