Persian and Arabic Poetry by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

I must acknowledge I never could see much merit in the Persian poetry, / which I have read in translation. There is not a ray of imagination in it, / and but a glimmering of fancy. It is, in fact, so far as I know, deficient / in truth. Poetry is certainly something more than good sense, but it must / be good sense, at all events; just as a palace is more than a house, but / it must be a house, at least. The Arabian Nights' Tales are a different / thing -- they are delightful, but I cannot help surmising that there is a / good deal of Greek fancy in them. No doubt we have had a great loss in the / Milesian Tales.[1] The book of Job is pure Arab poetry of the highest and / most antique cast.

Think of the sublimity, I should rather say the profundity, of that / passage in Ezekiel, [2]"Son of man, can these bones live? And I answered, / O Lord God, thou knowest. " I know nothing like it.