He is typical of his generation, however, not only in his form, but in the pain of his unbelief (as shown in _Betrayal_), and in that sense of half-revelation that fills him always with wonder and sometimes with hope. His poems tell of the visits of strange presences in dream and vacancy. In _A Vacant Day_, after describing the beauty of a summer moon, with clear waters flowing under willows, he closes with the verses: I listened; and my heart was dumb With praise no language could express; Longing in vain for him to come Who had breathed such blessedness. On this fair world, wherein we pass So chequered and so brief a stay, And yearned in spirit to learn, alas! What kept him still away. In these poems we have the genius of the beauty of gentleness expressing itself as it is doing nowhere else just now in verse. Mr. de la Mare's poetry is not only lovely, but lovable. He has a personal possession-- The skill of words to sweeten despair, such as will, we are confident, give him a permanent place in English literature. (2) THE GROUP The latest collection of Georgian verse has had a mixed reception. One or two distinguished critics have written of it in the mood of a challenge to mortal combat. Men have begun to quarrel over the question whether we are living in an age of poetic dearth or of poetic plenty--whether the world is a nest of singing-birds or a cage in which the last canary has been dead for several years. All this, I think, is a good sign. It means that poetry is interesting people sufficiently to make them wish to argue about it. Better a breeze--even a somewhat excessive breeze--than stagnant air. It is good both for poets and for the reading public. It prevents the poets from resting on their wings, as they might be tempted to do by a consistent calm of praise. It compels them to examine their work more critically. Anyhow, "fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil," and a reasonable amount of sharp censure will do a true poet more good than harm. It will not necessarily injure even his sales. I understand the latest volume of _Georgian Poetry_ is already in greater demand than its predecessor. It is a good anthology of the poetry of the last two years without being an ideal anthology. Some good poets and some good poems have been omitted. And they have been omitted, in some instances, in favour of inferior work. Many of us would prefer an anthology of the best poems rather than an anthology of authors. At the same time, with all its faults, _Georgian Poetry_ still remains the best guide we possess to the poetic activities of the time. I am glad to see that the editor includes the work of a woman in his new volume. This helps to make it more representative than the previous selections. But there are several other living women who are better poets, at the lowest estimate, than at least a quarter of the men who have gained admission.