Only one English poet of our own day, and that a minor one, has attempted to make the poem of four lines a specialty--that is William Watson. He has written a whole volume of such little poems, but very few of them are successful. As I said before, we have not enough good poems of this sort for a book; and the reason is not because English poets despise the short form, but because it is supremely difficult. The Greeks succeeded in it, but we are still far behind the Greeks in the shaping of any kind of verse. The best of Watson's pieces take the form of philosophical suggestions; and this kind of verse is particularly well adapted to philosophical utterance. Think not thy wisdom can illume away The ancient tanglement of night and day. Enough to acknowledge both, and both revere; They see not clearliest who see all things clear. That is to say, do not think that any human knowledge will ever be able to make you understand the mystery of the universe with its darkness and light, its joy and pain. It is best to revere the powers that make both good and evil, and to remember that the keenest, worldly, practical minds are not the minds that best perceive the great truths and mysteries of existence. Here is another little bit, reminding us somewhat of Goethe's quatrain, already quoted. Lives there whom pain hath evermore passed by And sorrow shunned with an averted eye? Him do thou pity,--him above the rest, Him, of all hapless mortals most unblessed. That needs no commentary, and it contains a large truth in small space. Here is a little bit on the subject of the artist's ambition, which is also good. The thousand painful steps at last are trod, At last the temple's difficult door we win, But perfect on his pedestal, the God Freezes us hopeless when we enter in. The higher that the artist climbs by effort, the nearer his approach to the loftier truth, the more he understands how little his very best can achieve. It is the greatest artist, he who veritably enters the presence of God--that most feels his own weakness; the perception of beauty that other men can not see, terrifies him, freezes him motionless, as the poet says. Out of all of Watson's epigrams I believe these are the best. The rest with the possible exception of those on the subject of love seem to me altogether failures. Emerson and various American poets also attempted the quatrain--but Emerson's verse is nearly always bad, even when his thought is sublime. One example of Emerson will suffice. Thou canst not wave thy staff in air, Or dip thy paddle in the lake, But it carves the bow of beauty there, And the ripples in rhyme the oar forsake.