214 BIRDS AND POETS 
as poetry always must differ, in being alive and sym- 
pathetic, instead of dead and analytic. There is 
nothing of the forbidden here, none of those sweet 
morsels that we love to roll under the tongue, such 
as are found in Byron and Shakespeare, and even in 
austere Dante. If the fact is not lifted up and 
redeemed by the solemn and far-reaching laws of 
maternity and paternity, through which the poet 
alone contemplates it, then it is irredeemable, and 
one side of our nature is intrinsically vulgar and 
mean. 
Again: Out of all the full-grown, first-class poems, 
no matter what their plot or theme, emerges a sam- 
ple of Man, each after its kind, its period, its na- 
tionality, its antecedents. The vast and cumbrous 
Hindu epics contribute their special types of both 
man and woman, impossible except from far-off Asia 
and Asian antiquity. Out of Homer, after all his 
gorgeous action and events, the distinct personal 
identity, the heroic and warlike chieftain of Hellas 
only permanently remains. In the same way, when 
the fire and fervor of Shakespeare’s plots and pas- 
sions subside, the special feudal personality, as lord 
or gentleman, still towers in undying vitality. Even 
the Sacred Writings themselves, considered as the 
first great poems, leave on record, out of all the 
rest, the portraiture of a characteristic Oriental Man. 
Far different from these (and yet, as he says, “the 
same old countenance pensively looking forth,” and 
“the same red running blood”), ‘‘ Leaves of Grass ” 
and ‘'T'wo Rivulets” also bring their contribution; 
