Friend, you have spoken well: in us, such as we are, <br />There frequently exists a certain flower <br />That blossoms, fades and from the heart its leaves are shed. <br />'In three quarters of mankind, you must understand, <br />A poet has died young who is outlived by the man.' <br />Well said, my friend - and a little too well said. <br /> <br />You didn't pay attention, lining out your thought, <br />That your pen made poetry then and there, unsought. <br />In his own tongue you took Apollo's name in vain. <br />I betray you to your injured Muse: Read again, <br />And remember that in all of us frequently there keeps <br />A poet young and vibrant, who is not dead, but sleeps.<br /><br />Alfred de Musset<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-saint-beuve/
