so, and in another way as neither youth nor man, but something
idyllic, separate and seraph-like, untouched mostly with earthly
experience. These pictures do show that he was, unquestionably, a
bright gust of England, with an almost audible splendour about even
these poor replicas, which make it seem that he did perform the
ascribed miracle, that England really had brought forth of her
brightest and best, only to lay away her golden fruitage in dust upon
the borders of a far and classical sea, with an acute untimeliness.
But respectfully let me say, I think much in these hours of the
incongruity and pathos of excessive celebration. There shall not be
for long, singers enough to sing high songs commensurate with the
delights of those numberless ones "who lived, and sang, and had a
beating heart", those who have sped into the twilight too soon, having
but a brief time to discover if years had bright secrets for them or
clear perspective. There shall always lack the requisite word for them
who have made many a dull morning splendid with faith, they who have
been the human indication immeasurably of the sun's rising, and of the
truth that vision is a thing of reason.

Of Brooke and the other dead poets as well, there has, it seems to me,
been too much of celebration. But of Brooke and his poetry, which is a
far superior product to these really most ordinary "Letters", there is
in these poetic pieces too much of what I want to call "University
Cleavage", an excess of old school painting, too much usage of the
warm image, which, though emotional, is not sensuous enough to express
the real poetic sensuousness, to make the line or the word burn
passionately, too much of the shades of Swinburne still upon the
horizon. Rose and violet of the eighteen ninety hues have for long
been dispensed with, as has the pierrot and his moon. We have in this
time come to like hardier colourings, which are for us more
satisfying, and more poetic. We hardly dare use the hot words of
"Anactoria" in our day. To be sure rose is English, for it has been
for long a very predominant shade on the young face of England, but in
Brooke there is an old age to the fervour, and in spite of the
brilliant youth of the poet, there is an old age in the substance and
really in the treatment as well. We are wanting a fresher intonation
to those images, and expect a new approach, and a newer aspect. It is
not to adhere by means of criticism to the prevailing gravey