How did I just now learn of Keats' negative capability -- the key to my life!? -- Capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact & reason.
The poet receives impulses from a world that is full of mystery and doubt, which cannot be explained but which the poet can translate into art.
Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
From "Sunday Morning" by Wallace Stevens:
Divinity must live within herself: Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow. Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued Elations when the forest blooms; gusty Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights; All pleasures and all pains, remembering The bough of summer and the winter branch. These are the measures destined for her soul.
... Death is the mother of beauty ...