Here you will find the Poem Taste of poet Mark Akenside
What, then, is taste but those internal powers, Active and strong, and feeling alive To each fine impulse? a discerning sense Of decent and sublime, with quick disgust From things deformed, or disarranged and gross In species. This nor gems nor stores of gold, Nor purple state nor culture can bestow; But God alone, when first His active hand Imprints the secret bias of the soul.
