“Good-bye, sweet friend. What matters it that you Have found Love’s death in joy, and I in sorrow? For hand in hand, just as we used to do, We two shall live our passionate poem through On God’s serene to-morrow.” R. A. L. THESE poems, by a writer for whom I have literary hopes, belong very clearly to that new and vigorous type of poetry which has sprung from the stress of the last few years and has its root in things done and suffered rather than in things merely imagined.…
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