eave hospital building and statute revision
for men of duller sight than he:

Oft shall war end and peace return
And cities rise where cities burn
Ere one man my hill shall climb
Who can turn the golden rhyme.
Let them manage how they may,
Heed thou only Saadi's lay.
[Footnote: _Saadi_.]

Here the philosopher may demur. If the poet were truly an idealist,--if
he found for the world conceptions as pure as those of mathematics,
which can be applied equally well to any situation, then, indeed, he
might regard himself as the author of progress. But it is the poet's
failing that he gives men no vision of abstract beauty. He represents
his visions in the contemporary dress of his times. Thus he idealizes
the past and the present, showing beauty shining through the dullness
and error of human history. Is he not, then, the enemy of progress,
since he will lead his readers to imagine that things are ideal as they
are?

Rather, men will be filled with reverence for the idealized portrait of
themselves that the poet has drawn, and the intervention of the reformer
will be unnecessary, since they will voluntarily tear off the shackles
that disfigure them. The poet, said Shelley, "redeems from decay the
visitations of the divinity in man." Emerson said of Wordsworth, "He
more than any other man has done justice to the divine in us." Mrs.
Browning said (of Carlyle) "He fills the office of a poet--by analyzing
humanity back into its elements, to the destruction of the conventions
of the hour." [Footnote: Letter to Robert Browning, February 27, 1845.]
This is what Matthew Arnold meant by calling poetry "a criticism of
life." Poetry is captivating only in proportion as the ideal shines
through the sensual; consequently men who are charmed by the beauty
incarnate in poetry, are moved to discard all conventions through which
beauty does not shine.

Therefore, the poet repeats, he is the true author of reform. Tennyson
says of freedom,

No sword
Of wrath her right arm whirled,
But one poor poet's scroll, and with his word
She shook the world.
[Footnote: _The Poet_.]

This brings us back to our war poets who have so recently died. Did they
indeed disparage the Muse whom they deserted? Did they not rather die to
fulfill a poet's prophesy of freedom? A poet who did not carry in his
heart the courage of his song--what could be more discreditable to
poetry than that? The soldier-poets were