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Sonnet XIII. Addressed To Haydon

High-mindedness, a jealousy for good, A loving-kindness for the great man's fame, Dwells here and there with people of no name, In noisome alley, and in pathless wood: And where we think the truth least understood, Oft may be found a "singleness of aim," That ought to frighten into hooded shame A money-mongering, pitiable brood. How glorious this affection for the cause Of steadfast genius, toiling gallantly! What when a stout unbending champion awes Envy and malice to their native sty? Unnumbered souls breathe out a still applause, Proud to behold him in his country's eye. 'Benjamin Robert Haydon, historical painter, was born on the 26th of January 1786, and died by his own hand on the 22nd of June 1846. ' ~ Poetical Works of John Keats, ed. H. Buxton Forman, Crowell publ. 1895.