Wise-Woman of light means the cock. Morrow of the caterpillar in balldress -- butterfly. Sin that sucks -- natural child. Living distaff -- mutton. Fin of the plow -- plowshare. Wasp with the whip sting -- diligence. Breast of crystal -- flagon. Crab of the hand -- open hand. Letter announcement -- magpie. Cemetery with wings -- a flight of crows. Romance for the nostrils -- perfume of flowers. To tame the carious jawbone of bemol of a modern tarask -- to play the piano. Surly gewgaw of the doorway -- watchdog. Blaspheming limousine -- wagoner. To chant a bronze alexandrine -- to peal midnight. Cognac of Father Adam -- the broad, pure air. Imagery only seen with closed eyes -- dreams. Leaves of living salad -- frogs. Green chatterers -- frogs. Sonorous wild-poppy -- cock-crow. The most heedless person, having read this last, will decide that Saint-Pol-Roux is gifted with an imagination and with an equally exuberant wretched taste. If all these images, some of which are ingenious, followed one after another towards _les Reposoirs de la Procession_ where the poet guides them, the reading of such a work would be difficult and the smile would often temper the aesthetic emotion; but strewn here and there, they but form stains and do not always break the harmony of richly colored, ingenious and grave poems. _Le Pèlerinage de Sainte-Anne_, written almost entirely in images, is free of all impurity and the metaphors, as Théophile Gautier would have wished, unfold themselves in profusion, but logically and knit together; it is the type and marvel of the prose poem, with rhythm and assonance. In the same volume, the _Nocturne_ dedicated to Huysmans is but a vain chaplet of incoherent catachreses: the ideas there are devoured by a frightful troop of beasts. But _l'Autopsie de la Vieille fille_, despite a fault of tone, but _Calvaire immémorial_, but _l'Ame saisissable_ are masterpieces. Saint-Pol-Roux plays on a zither whose strings sometimes are too tightly drawn: a turn of the key would suffice for our ears ever to be deeply gladdened. ROBERT DE MONTESQUIOU