The field of literary criticism is an interesting and fruitful one, in which puzzlers might carve out a niche. This was recently brought home by a conversation I had with a sagacious old gentleman in the reading room of a library. I was immersed in a volume of Keats, savouring the lines of his greatest masterpiece, the Ode to a Nightingale1, when I was rudely interrupted by a few words muttered by an old man near me.
"No indeed," said he, not taken aback, "I merely wanted to show how difficult it is to solve such problems without genuine detective work. See this!" - and here he slid a piece of paper towards me - "this is a poem2 I found in Keats' handwriting in a copy of Annals of the Fine Arts, after I got stuck at the same step as yourself. It is presented as a mere exercise, but I warrant you it contains the key to Ode to a Nightingale."