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The Advance of English Poetry in the Twentieth Century by William Lyon Phelps
Book, page 191 / 248


and the lusty shout are not in the bowl, but in the soul. Subjectivity
can no further go.

It is rather curious, that when our poet can behold such passion in a
willow-tree or in a mess of plucked fruit, he should be so blind to it
in the heart of an old maid; though to be honest, the heroine of his
poem is meant for an individual rather than a type. If there is one
object on earth that a healthy young man cannot understand, it is an
old maid. Who can forget that terrible outburst of the aunt in _Une
Vie_? "Nobody ever cared to ask if my feet were wet!" Mr.
Untermeyer will live and learn. He is not contemptuous; he is full of
pity, but it is the pity of ignorance.

   Great joys or sorrows never came
     To set her placid soul astir;
   Youth's leaping torch, Love's sudden flame
     Were never even lit for her.

_Don't you believe it, Mr. Untermeyer!_

Even in his "serious" volumes of verse, there is much satire and
saline humour; so that his delightful book of parodies, called _----
and Other Poets_ is as spontaneous a product of his Muse as his
utterances _ex cathedra_. The twenty-seven poems, called _The
Banquet of the Bards_, with which the book begins, are excellent
fooling and genuine criticism. He wrote these things for his own
amusement, one reason why they amuse us. A roll-call of twenty-seven
contemporary poets, where each one comes forward and "speaks his
piece," is decidedly worth having. John Masefield "tells the true
story of Tom, Tom, the Piper's Son"; William Butler Yeats "gives a
Keltic version of Three Wise Men in Gotham"; Robert Frost "relates the
Death of the Tired Man," and so on. I had rather possess this volume
than any other by the author; it is almost worthy to rank with the
immortal _Fly Leaves_. Furthermore, in his serious work Mr.
Untermeyer has only begun to fight.

And while we are considering poems "in lighter vein," let us not
forget the three famous initials signed to a column in the Chicago
_Tribune_, Don Marquis of the _Evening Sun_, who can be
either grave or gay but cannot be ungraceful, and the universally

 
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