We have dealt with the poet's place in the world of growing scientific
light. We might also treat of the poet's place in the world of social
progress. But he is a bold man who will prophesy whither society is
tending. To some of us, its evolution has no terrors. But, whatever be
the course of institutions, whatever the changing shapes of the social
organism, there is one conviction we may most firmly hold. It is that,
as ecstasies of love and grief, hope and fear, joy and suffering, must
still exist, so the poet will ever exist to give them utterance. The
drama, the lyric, the elegy, can never be effete so long as men have
hearts and feel with them.
But why, it may be asked, should all this exquisite expression of nature
and man and life take shape in verse? Why should we not, with Carlyle,
declare verse out of date, an artificial thing, which expresses under
crippling encumbrances what could be expressed in prose more clearly and
more truthfully? To this question we may reply that rhymes and
recurrences of equal syllables are indeed no essentials of true poetry.
Poetry has existed without them, and will exist without them. But, if
not rhymes and equal syllables, yet rhythm and melody, moving
concurrences of sounds, must for all time be elements of poetic
utterance. The reason should be manifest. There is an indefinable
sympathy between the spoken sound and the conceiving mood of the poet.
The poet conceives in moments of unusual sensibility, his mental part
is vibrating, and that sensibility lends a corresponding movement to his
language. When a poet says of himself--
I do but sing because I must,
And pipe but as the linnets sing,
he expresses the truth that rhythm and melody lend themselves
spontaneously to an inspiring thought. Poetry, like good music, comes of
the possession of the movement. The mood in which poetry is conceived is
the same mood in which men burst forth without premeditation into song.
The thoughts which come to the poet in his exaltation are, therefore,
naturally wedded to melody and cadence.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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