The hopes not of a lover but of humanity
are crushed beneath its rhythm. The ruthlessness of the event is
intensified in the motion of the poem till one can hear the even pad of
destiny, and a moment comes when to a sense made eager by the strain of
intense attention it seems to have been written by the destiny it
records.
What is the secret of poetic power like this? We do not look for it in
technique, though the technique of this poem is masterly. But the
technique of 'as the hope-hour stroked its sum' is of such a kind that
we know as we read that it proceeds from a sheer compulsive force. For a
moment it startles; a moment more and the echo of those very words is
reverberant with accumulated purpose. They are pitiless as the poem; the
sign of an ultimate obedience is upon them. Whence came the power that
compelled it? Can the source be defined or indicated? We believe it can
be indicated, though not defined. We can show where to look for the
mystery, that in spite of our regard remains a mystery still.
Pages:
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189