Poetry had far better imply things than preach them directly... in the open pulpit her voice grows hoarse and fails.
This indeed is one of the eternal paradoxes of both life and literature-that without passion little gets done yet without control of that passion its effects are largely ill or null.
Apart from a few simple principles, the sound and rhythm of English prose seem to me matters where both writers and readers should trust not so much to rules as to their ears.