sense in the so worn out forms of things; the world, which we can no longer believe in as the satisfying material object it was to our grandparents, becomes transfigured with a new light; words, which long usage had darkened almost out of recognition, take fresh lustre. And it is on the lines of that spiritualising of the word, that perfecting of form in its capacity for allusion and suggestion, that confidence in the eternal correspondences between the visible and the invisible universe, which Mallarmé taught, and too intermittently practised, that literature must now move, if it is in any sense to move forward. N turning from Arthur Symons the critic IN I to Arthur Symons the poet, one cannot but be impressed with the fact that we have found "a poet with something to say," who, at the cost of much early poetic selfeffacement, has at last said it superbly well. Three of his essays have already given our readers some slight notion of Mr. Symons' critical depth; essays which go to the vital point of expanding to the measure of each man's intention the best that he hoped to do, even if he failed of its actual accomplishment. Now, with Mr. Symons' permission, the following selections are taken from his collected Poems of last year,—an édition definitive which requires something more than a mere word in passing. His own words are: 66 This edition contains all I care to preserve out of the five volumes of verse which I have published. These are: Days and Nights, 1889, Silhouettes, 1892; London Nights, 1895; 1 His latest article of length concerns itself in the North American Review for September, 1902, with one of the most fascinating subjects of the eighteenth century: Casanova at Dux: an unpublished chapter of history. Amoris Victima, 1897; Images of Good and Evil, 1899." To this we may add that few poets have shown the courage of their convictions to the extent of almost entirely suppressing the contents of their earliest volume; indeed, no finer study of the self-restraint of a growing artistic conscience can be found than in a minute comparison of Mr. Symons' first editions with what he cares to retain in his final two volumes lying before us.2 What we have given is briefly summarized. The first section comprises a more or less imaginary sequence of love lyrics; the miscellaneous poems are bound together by no such slight association but aim to present as wide a variety of subject as possible. Both divisions are entirely subjective in treatment, and whatever judgment may be ultimately passed upon them, are essentially the product of moods of modernity; passionate introspections born of a joy that has taken flight, which are part and parcel of To-day and may long outlast it. 2 Poems by Arthur Symons. 2 vols., 8vo, with portrait. London, 1902. Imported and for sale by John Lane, New York ($3.00 net). FOR MAY: A SECOND LITTLE GARLAND By ARTHUR SYMONS. MODERN BEAUTY. I am the torch, she saith, and what to me I am Yseult and Helen, I have seen Troy burn, and the most loving knight lie dead. I live, and am immortal; in my eyes The torch, but where's the moth that still dares die? ARTHUR SYMONS. L à Arthur Symons. A cour de la fontaine est, dans le Temple, Un coin exquis de ce coin délicat Du Londres vieux où le jeune avocat Des arbres moins anciens (mais vieux, sans faute) Des moineaux francs picorent joliment Car c'est l'hiver la baie un peu moisie Sur la branche précaire, et-poésie ! La jeune Anglaise à l'Anglais âgé ment. . . Qu'importe ! Ils ont raison, et nous aussi, "Et le jet d'eau ride l'humble bassin" LONDRES, Novembre, 1894. PAUL VERLAINE. |