Milton's _Comus_; and as for _Hamlet_ you may see nothing in it but a
sanguinary tale "full of quotations." Nevertheless it is the supreme
productions which are capable of yielding the supreme pleasures, and
which _will_ yield the supreme pleasures when the pass-key to them
has been acquired. This pass-key is a comprehension of the nature of
poetry.




CHAPTER IX

VERSE


There is a word, a "name of fear," which rouses terror in the heart
of the vast educated majority of the English-speaking race. The
most valiant will fly at the mere utterance of that word. The most
broad-minded will put their backs up against it. The most rash will
not dare to affront it. I myself have seen it empty buildings that had
been full; and I know that it will scatter a crowd more quickly than
a hose-pipe, hornets, or the rumour of plague. Even to murmur it is
to incur solitude, probably disdain, and possibly starvation, as
historical examples show. That word is "poetry."

The profound objection of the average man to poetry can scarcely
be exaggerated. And when I say the average man, I do not mean the
"average sensual man"--any man who gets on to the top of the omnibus;
I mean the average lettered man, the average man who does care a
little for books and enjoys reading, and knows the classics by name