"It is then that my poems are born.
The words burst into music in my head and I sing like Isaiah the restoration of our land, and become the poet patriot of my people.

But these English! They care only to make money and to stuff it down the throats of gorging reverends.

My scholarship, my poetry, my divine dreams--what are these to a besotted, brutal congregation of Men-of-the-Earth?
I sent Buckledorf, the rich banker, a copy of my little book, with a special dedication written in my own autograph in German, so that he might understand it.

And what did he send me?
A beggarly five shillings?
Five shillings to the one poet in whom the heavenly fire lives! How can the heavenly fire live on five shillings?
I had almost a mind to send it back.

And then there was Gideon, the member of Parliament.