The Anglo-Saxon of our day
has a tendency to think that a fine idea excuses slovenly workmanship.
These clear-eyed Frenchmen are a reproof to our self-satisfied laziness.
Before the works of Parnassians like Leconte de Lisle,
and Jose/-Maria de Heredia, or those of Henri de Re/gnier, Albert Samain,
Francis Jammes, Remy de Gourmont, and Paul Fort, of the more modern school,
we stand rebuked. Indeed -- "They order this matter better in France."
It is because in France, to-day, poetry is so living and vigorous a thing,
that so many metrical experiments come from there. Only a vigorous tree has
the vitality to put forth new branches. The poet with originality and power
is always seeking to give his readers the same poignant feeling which
he has himself. To do this he must constantly find new and striking images,
delightful and unexpected forms. Take the word "daybreak", for instance.
What a remarkable picture it must once have conjured up!
The great, round sun, like the yolk of some mighty egg, BREAKING through
cracked and splintered clouds. But we have said "daybreak" so often
that we do not see the picture any more, it has become only
another word for dawn.
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