In the first place, why is it essential in reading poetry to give the words their full imagined sound and body? What is meant by saying that the poet works with this sound and body? The answer is that even before the words have been intellectually understood and the thoughts they occasion formed and followed, the movement and sound of the words is playing deeply and intimately upon the interests. How this happens is a matter which has yet to be successfully investigated, but that it happens no sensitive reader of poetry doubts. A good deal of poetry and even some great poetry exists (_e.g._, some of Shakespeare’s Songs and, in a different way, much of the best of Swinburne) in which the sense of the words can be _almost_ entirely missed or neglected without loss. Never perhaps entirely without effort however; though sometimes with advantage. But the plain fact that the relative importance of grasping the sense of the words may vary (compare Browning’s _Before_ with his _After_) is enough for our purpose here. In nearly all poetry the sound and feel of the words, what is often called the _form_ of the poem in opposition to its _content_, get to work first, and the sense in which the words are taken is subtly influenced by this fact. Most words are ambiguous as regards their plain sense, especially in poetry. We can take them as we please in a variety of senses. The sense we are pleased to choose is the one which most suits the impulses already stirred through the form of the verse. The same thing can be noticed in conversation. Not the strict logical sense of what is said, but the tone of voice and the occasion are the primary factors by which we interpret. Science, it is worth noting, endeavours with increasing success to bar out these factors. We believe a scientist because he can substantiate his remarks, not because he is eloquent or forcible in his enunciation. In fact, we distrust him when he seems to be influencing us by his manner.