'Mr. Keats, whose poetry you enquire after, appears to me what I have already said: such writing is a sort of mental ****-******** his Imagination. I don't mean he is indecent, but viciously soliciting his own ideas into a state, which is neither poetry nor anything else but a Bedlam vision produced by raw pork and opium...'
from a letter to John Murray, dated November 9, 1820, in The Letters of Lord Byron
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