Despite the elaborate essays in defence of Whitman's poetry
by Dowden,*1* Symonds,*2* and Whitman himself, I believe Lanier is right
in declaring that "Whitman is poetry's butcher. Huge raw collops
slashed from the rump of poetry and never mind gristle --
is what Whitman feeds our souls with. As near as I can make it out,
Whitman's argument seems to be, that, because a prairie is wide,
therefore debauchery is admirable, and because the Mississippi is long,
therefore every American is God."*3* Notice, again, how well
the defect of `Paradise Lost' is pointed out:
"And I forgive
Thee, Milton, those thy comic-dreadful wars
Where, armed with gross and inconclusive steel,
Immortals smite immortals mortalwise
And fill all heaven with folly."*4*
Few better things have been said of Langland than this, --
"That with but a touch
Of art hadst sung Piers Plowman to the top
Of English songs, whereof 'tis dearest, now
And most adorable;"*5*
or of Emerson than this, --
"Most wise, that yet, in finding Wisdom, lost
Thy Self, sometimes;"*6*
or of Tennyson than this, --
"Largest voice
Since Milton, yet some register of wit
Wanting.
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