Alice: An Adultery

and hers ; not “ how wonderful it is,” that is, his poem. The poem is simple, understandable, direct, not verbose. More I demand not, seeing it is written (almost literally so) in blood ; for I am sure that he was dying of that love for Alice, whose marvellous beauty it was his mission (who may doubt it ?) to reveal. For the burning torch of truth may smoke, but it is our one sure light in passion and distress. The jewelled silence of the star is, indeed, the light of a serener art ; but love is human, and I give nothing for the tawdry gems of style when the breast they would adorn is that of a breathing, living beauty of man’s love, the heart of all the world. Nor let us taint one sympathy with even a shadow of regret. Let us leave him where “ Sight nor sound shall war against him more, For whom all winds are quiet as the sun, All waters as the shore.” NOTE.—The sudden and tragic death of the Editor has necessitated the completion of his task by another hand. The introduction was, however, in practically its present form. xii