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Sometimes the facture of his verses is impeccable, as if he were T. S. Eliot. One would allow ten years between the two quotations, and yet they may have been written on the same day:

No poem attains a lyrical perfection (he has a contempt for lyricists) and no poem is without its excellences:

Evidently there is no consistency to his work; it cannot be catalogued under any of the epithets which he so abuses; there is no place for him in the files. He is good and bad at once; brilliant and boring; awkward and skilful. He has all the insufferability of genius, and a very little of the genius which alone can justify it. He will be known some day wherever an adjective meets a strange adverb and where they bow distantly to each other; that is, he will be known in the literary circles where such introductions are made. Elsewhere he will never need to be forgotten.