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They [French critics of the Paris Salon of 1824, where his painting 'the Hay Wain' received a gold medal] are very amusing and acute - but very shallow and feeble. Thus one - after saying: "'it is but justice to admire the truth - 'the color' - and 'general vivacity' & richness -" – yet they want the objects more formed and defined &c, and say they are like the rich preludes in musick, and the full harmonious warblings of the Aeolian lyre, which means 'nothing,' and they call them orations - and harangues - and high-flown conversations affecting a careless ease - &c &v &c - Is not some of this 'blame' the highest 'praise' – what is poetry? – What is Coleridge's Ancient Mariner (the very best modern poem) but something like this?