Ralph Waldo Emerson writes in his journal:
Last night H. T. read me verses which pleased if not by beauty of particular lines, yet by the honest truth, and by the length of flight & strength of wing; for, most of our poets are only writers of lines or of epigrams. These of H.T. at least have rude strength, & we do not come to the bottom of the mine. Their fault is, that the gold does not yet flow pure, but is drossy & crude. The thyme & marjoram are not yet made into honey; the assimilation is imperfect.
(The Journals and Miscellaneous Notebooks of Ralph Waldo Emerson, 8:257)
