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curiosity is as to the precise combinations into which the pieces
will be shifted。 There is； in fact； a certain band of words； the
Praetorian cohorts of poetry； whose prescriptive aid is invoked by
every aspirant to the poetical purple； and without whose
prescriptive aid none dares aspire to the poetical purple； against
these it is time some banner should be raised。 Perhaps it is almost
impossible for a contemporary writer quite to evade the services of
the free…lances whom one encounters under so many standards。 ｛4｝
But it is at any rate curious to note that the literary revolution
against the despotic diction of Pope seems issuing； like political
revolutions； in a despotism of its own making。
This； then； we cannot but think； distinguishes the literary period
of Shelley from our own。 It distinguishes even the unquestionable
treasures and masterpieces of to…day from similar treasures and
masterpieces of the precedent day； even the Lotus…Eaters from Kubla…
Khan； even Rossetti's ballads from Christabel。 It is present in the
restraint of Matthew Arnold no less than in the exuberance of
Swinburne； and affects our writers who aim at simplicity no less
than those who seek richness。 Indeed； nothing is so artificial as
our simplicity。 It is the simplicity of the French stage ingenue。
We are self…conscious to the finger…tips； and this inherent quality；
entailing on our poetry the inevitable loss of spontaneity； ensures
that whatever poets； of whatever excellence； may be born to us from
the Shelleian stock； its founder's spirit can take among us no
reincarnation。 An age that is ceasing to produce child…like
children cannot produce a Shelley。 For both as poet and man he was
essentially a child。
Yet； just as in the effete French society before the Revolution the
Queen played at Arcadia； the King played at being a mechanic；
everyone played at simplicity and universal philanthropy； leaving
for most durable outcome of their philanthropy the guillotine； as
the most durable outcome of ours may be execution by electricity；
so in our own society the talk of benevolence and the cult of
childhood are the very fashion of the hour。 We； of this self…
conscious； incredulous generation； sentimentalise our children；
analyse our children； think we are endowed with a special capacity
to sympathise and identify ourselves with children； we play at being
children。 And the result is that we are not more child…like； but
our children are less child…like。 It is so tiring to stoop to the
child； so much easier to lift the child up to you。 Know you what it
is to be a child？ It is to be something very different from the man
of to…day。 It is to have a spirit yet streaming from the waters of
baptism； it is to believe in love； to believe in loveliness； to
believe in belief； it is to be so little that the elves can reach to
whisper in your ear； it is to turn pumpkins into coaches； and mice
into horses； lowness into loftiness； and nothing into everything；
for each child has its fairy godmother in its own soul； it is to
live in a nutshell and to count yourself the king of infinite space；
it is
To see a world in a grain of sand；
And a heaven in a wild flower；
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand；
And eternity in an hour；
it is to know not as yet that you are under sentence of life； nor
petition that it be commuted into death。 When we become conscious
in dreaming that we dream； the dream is on the point of breaking；
when we become conscious in living that we live； the ill dream is
but just beginning。 Now if Shelley was but too conscious of the
dream； in other respects Dryden's false and famous line might have
been applied to him with very much less than it's usual untruth。 ｛5｝
To the last； in a degree uncommon even among poets； he retained the
idiosyncrasy of childhood； expanded and matured without
differentiation。 To the last he was the enchanted child。
This was； as is well known； patent in his life。 It is as really；
though perhaps less obviously； manifest in his poetry； the sincere
effluence of his life。 And it may not； therefore； be amiss to
consider whether it was conditioned by anything beyond his
congenital nature。 For our part； we believe it to have been equally
largely the outcome of his early and long isolation。 Men given to
retirement and abstract study are notoriously liable to contract a
certain degree of childlikeness： and if this be the case when we
segregate a man； how much more when we segregate a child！ It is
when they are taken into the solution of school…life that children；
by the reciprocal interchange of influence with their fellows；
undergo the series of reactions which converts them from children
into boys and from boys into men。 The intermediate stage must be
traversed to reach the final one。
Now Shelley never could have been a man； for he never was a boy。
And the reason lay in the persecution which overclouded his school…
days。 Of that persecution's effect upon him； he has left us； in The
Revolt of Islam； a picture which to many or most people very
probably seems a poetical exaggeration； partly because Shelley
appears to have escaped physical brutality； partly because adults
are inclined to smile tenderly at childish sorrows which are not
caused by physical suffering。 That he escaped for the most part
bodily violence is nothing to the purpose。 It is the petty
malignant annoyance recurring hour by hour； day by day； month by
month； until its accumulation becomes an agony； it is this which is
the most terrible weapon that boys have against their fellow boy；
who is powerless to shun it because； unlike the man； he has
virtually no privacy。 His is the torture which the ancients used；
when they anointed their victim with honey and exposed him naked to
the restless fever of the flies。 He is a little St。 Sebastian；
sinking under the incessant flight of shafts which skilfully avoid
the vital parts。
We do not； therefore； suspect Shelley of exaggeration： he was； no
doubt； in terrible misery。 Those who think otherwise must forget
their own past。 Most people； we suppose； MUST forget what they were
like when they were children： otherwise they would know that the
griefs of their childhood were passionate abandonment； DECHIRANTS
（to use a characteristically favourite phrase of modern French
literature） as the griefs of their maturity。 Children's griefs are
little； certainly； but so is the child； so is its endurance； so is
its field of vision； while its nervous impressionability is keener
than ours。 Grief is a matter of relativity； the sorrow should be
estimated by its proportion to the sorrower； a gash is as painful to
one as an amputation to another。 Pour a puddle into a thimble； or
an Atlantic into Etna； both thimble and mountain overflow。 Adult
fools； would not the angels smile at our griefs； were not angels too
wise to smile at them？
So beset； the child fled into