is less acceptable than this one to poets in general. They are far more
likely to earn the world's ridicule by the deadly seriousness with which
they take verse writing. If the object of his pursuit is a sport, the
average poet is as little aware of it as is the athlete who suffers a
nervous collapse before the big game of the season.

But Plato's more significant statement is untouched. Is poetry an
imitation of life? It depends, of course, upon how broadly we interpret
the phrase, "imitation of life." In one sense almost every poet would
say that Plato was right in characterizing poetry thus. The usual
account of inspiration points to passive mirroring of life. Someone has
said of the poet,

As a lake
Reflects the flower, tree, rock, and bending heaven,
Shall he reflect our great humanity.
[Footnote: Alexander Smith, _A Life Drama_.]

And these lines are not false to the general view of the poet's
function, but they leave us leeway to quarrel over the nature of the
reflection mentioned, just as we quarrel over the exact connotations of
Plato's and Aristotle's word, imitation. Even if we hold to the narrower
meaning of imitation, there are a few poets who intimate that imitation
alone is their aim in writing poetry. Denying that life has an ideal
element, they take pains to mirror it, line for line, and blemish for
blemish. How can they meet Plato's question as to their usefulness? If
life is a hideous, meaningless thing, as they insinuate, it is not clear
what merit can abide in a faithful reflection of it. Let us take the
case of Robert Service, who prided himself upon the realism of his war
poetry. [Footnote: See _Rhymes of a Red Cross Man_.] Perhaps his