Poetry, even when apparently most fantastic, is always a revolt against artifice, a revolt, in a sense, against actuality.

That sense of a life in natural objects, which in most poetry is but a rhetorical artifice, was, then, in Wordsworth the assertion of what was for him almost literal fact.

Art is a revolt against fate. All art is a revolt against man's fate.

The castironpiles, the castironpiles--to hell with the castironpiles

Being surrounded with every conceivable kind of revolt from infancy, Gabriel had to revolt into something, so he revolted into the only thing left — sanity. But there was just enough in him of the blood of these fanatics to make even his protest for common sense a little too fierce to be sensible.

It is a tragic case of overloading the back porches, ... use common sense.