Read it through once

I. The progress of an artist is a continual self-sacrifice, a continual extinction of personality. He who is aware of a complete or of any considerable personal loneliness may express it and be praised for it and thought great. But not because he really has more to say than another. The loneliness may be a particular form of self-contemplation by which he obtains a personal sense of the absolute or the universal; but if that sense is achieved by reflection and not by immediate experience, the value of the poem is not increased.