beautiful! How natural! How true!" then
one knows that one has stumbled upon that flash
of personality which we call genius. These poems
are full of such flashes:

"Sparkle up, little tired flower
Leaning in the grass!"

. . .

"There is a star that runs very fast,
That goes pulling the moon
Through the tops of the poplars."

. . .

"There is sweetness in the tree,
And fireflies are counting the leaves.
I like this country,
I like the way it has."

A pansy has a "thinking face"; a rooster has a
comb "gay as a parade," he shouts "crooked
words, loud . . . sharp . . . not beautiful!";
frozen water is asked if it cannot "lift" itself
"with sun," and "Easter morning says a glad
thing over and over."

No matter who wrote them, those passages
would be beautiful, the oldest poet in the world