They are the conscious play of her
imagination, it must be "fun" to make them.
Ah, but it is the unconscious with which we are
most concerned, those very poems which are probably
to her the least interesting are the ones which
most certainly reveal the fulness of poetry from
which she draws. She probably hardly thought
at all, so natural was it, to say that three pinks
"smell like more of them in a blue vase," but the
expression fills the air with so strong a scent that
no superlative could increase it.
"Gift" is a lovely poem, it has feeling,
expression, originality, cadence. If a child can write
such a poem at eight years old, what does it mean?
That depends, I think, on how long the instructors
of youth can be persuaded to keep "hands off."
A period of imitation is, I fear, inevitable, but if
consciousness is not induced by direct criticism, if
instruction in the art of writing is abjured, the
imitative period will probably be got through
without undue loss. I think there is too much
native sense of beauty and proportion here to be
entirely killed even by the drying and freezing
process which goes by the name of education.
What this book chiefly shows is high promise;
but it also has its pages of real achievement, and
that of so high an order it may well set us pondering.
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