High-mindedness, a jealousy for good, <br />A loving-kindness for the great man's fame, <br />Dwells here and there with people of no name, <br />In noisome alley, and in pathless wood: <br />And where we think the truth least understood, <br />Oft may be found a 'singleness of aim,' <br />That ought to frighten into hooded shame <br />A money-mongering, pitiable brood. <br />How glorious this affection for the cause <br />Of steadfast genius, toiling gallantly! <br />What when a stout unbending champion awes <br />Envy and malice to their native sty? <br />Unnumbered souls breathe out a still applause, <br />Proud to behold him in his country's eye.<br /><br />John Keats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xiii-addressed-to-haydon/
