Some of my favorite lines of W.B Yeats, which have been coming to my mind as I read this thread:

(From "Meditations in a time of war: I. Ancestral Houses -- 1929)

Mere dreams, mere dreams! Yet Homer had not sung
Had he not found it certain beyond dreams
That out of life's own self-delight had sprung
The abounding glittering jet^*...

The point being that a) whatever form of art we create springs fromwhere deep inside us, at our connection to the core of life itself -- our connection to "Life's own self-delight" so catagorizing one artform over another as more or less "true" is, in some ways, a betrayal of all art, and b) that today, we think of Homer mostly as a poet and not a musician, but Yeats did not make that distinction... As a matter of fact, he wrote an essay (which I only half remember) about how all poetry should be written as though it would be sung... I'll have to find it again for a reread...

^* That's "jet" as in fountain or geyser, not an airplane... the "fountain of life" was a recurring symbol for Yeats.