Hilton, John Keats, 1822
My Dear
Bailey,
…
O I wish I was as certain of the end of all your troubles as that of your
momentary start about the authenticity of the Imagination. I am certain of nothing but of the
holiness of the Heart’s affections and the truth of the imagination – What the
imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth – whether it existed before or not –
for I have the same Idea of all our Passions as of Love they are all in their
sublime, creative of the essential Beauty – In a word, you may know my favorite
Speculation by my first Book and the little song I sent in my last -- which is a representation from the fancy
of the probable mode of operating in these Matters – The Imagination may be
compared to Adam’s dream – he awoke and found it truth. I am the more zealous in this affair,
because I have never yet been able to perceive how any thing can be known for
truth by consequitive reasoning – and yet it must be – Can it be that even the
greatest Philosopher ever arrived at his goal without putting aside numerous
objections – However it may be , O for a Life of Sensations rather than of
Thoughts! It is “a Vision in the
form of Youth” a Shadow of reality to come – and this consideration has further
convinced me for it has come as auxiliary to another favorite Speculation of
mine, that we shall enjoy ourselves here after by having what we called
happiness on Earth repeated in a finer tone and so repeated – And yet such a
fate can only befall those who delight in sensation rather than hunger for as
you do after Truth – Adam’s dream will do here and seems to be a conviction
that Imagination and its empyreal reflection is the same a human Life and its
spiritual repetition. But as I was
saying – the simple imaginative Mind may have its rewards in the repetition of
its own silent Working coming continually on the spirit with a fine suddenness
-- to compare great things with the small – have you never by being surprised
with an old Melody – in a delicious place – by a delicious voice, felt over
again your very speculations and surmises at the time it first operated on your
soul – do you not remember forming to yourself the singer’s face more beautiful
for than it was possible and yet with the elevation of the Moment you did not think
so – even then you were mounted on the Wings of Imagination so high – that
Prototype must be here after – the delicious face you will see – What a
time! I am continually running
away from the subject – sure this cannot be exactly the case with a complex
Mind – one that is imaginative and at the same time careful of its fruits – who
would exist partly on sensation partly on thought – to whom it is necessary
that years should bring the philosophic Mind – such as one I consider yours and
therefore it is necessary to your eternal Happiness that you not only drink
this old Wine of Heaven which I shall call the redigestion of our most ethereal
Musings on Earth, but also increase in knowledge and know all things. I am glad to hear you are in a fair Way
for Easter – you will soon get through your unpleasant reading and then! – but
the world is full of troubles and I have not much reason to think myself
pestered with many – I think Jane or Marianne has a better opinion of me than I
deserve – for really and truly I do not think my Brothers illness connected
with mine – you know more of the real Cause than they do – nor have I any
chance of being rack’d as you have been – you perhaps at one time thought there
was such a thing as Worldly Happiness to be arrived at, at certain periods of
time marked out – you have of necessity from your disposition been thus led
away – I scarcely remember counting upon any Happiness – I look not for it if
it be not in the present hour – nothing startles me beyond the Moment. The setting sun will always set me to
rights – or if a Sparrow come before my Window I take part in its existence and
pick about the Gravel. The first
thing that strikes me on hearing a Misfortune having befalled another is this. “Well it cannot be helped – he will
have the pleasure of trying the resources of his spirit, and I beg now my dear
Bailey that hereafter should you observe any thing cold in me not to but in to
the account of heartlessness but abstraction – for I assure you I sometimes
feel not the influence of Passion or Affection during a whole week – and so
long this sometimes continues I begin to suspect myself and the genuiness of my
feelings at other times – thinking them a few barren Tragedy-tears.
Your
affectionate friend
John Keats
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