But we may reasonably say that In Memoriam is a noble poem, an
original poem, a poem which stands alone in literature. The
wonderful beauty, ever fresh, howsoever often read, of many stanzas,
is not denied by any critic. The marvel is that the same serene
certainty of art broods over even the stanzas which must have been
conceived while the sorrow was fresh. The second piece,
"Old yew, which graspest at the stones,"
must have been composed soon after the stroke fell. Yet it is as
perfect as the proem of 1849. As a rule, the poetical expression of
strong emotion appears usually to clothe the memory of passion when
it has been softened by time. But here already "the rhythm,
phrasing, and articulation are entirely faultless, exquisitely clear,
melodious, and rare." {11} It were superfluous labour to point at
special beauties, at the exquisite rendering of nature; and copious
commentaries exist to explain the course of the argument, if a series
of moods is to be called an argument. One may note such a point as
that (xiv.) where the poet says that, were he to meet his friend in
life,
"I should not feel it to be strange."
It may have happened to many to mistake, for a section of a second,
the face of a stranger for the face seen only in dreams, and to find
that the recognition brings no surprise.
Pieces of a character apart from the rest, and placed in a designed
sequence, are xcii.
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