Nothing ever becomes real 'til it is experienced. - John Keats

And when thou art weary I'll find thee a bed,
Of mosses and flowers to pillow thy head.

Shed no tear! O shed no tear!
The flower will bloom another year.
Weep no more! O weep no more!
Young buds sleep in the root's white core.

I begin to get a little acquainted with my own strength and weakness. Praise or blame has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own works.