"Ah, are you digging on my grave?" pessimism approaches a _reductio
ad absurdum._

Dramatic power, which is one of its author's greatest gifts, is
frequently finely revealed. After reading _A Tramp-woman's
Tragedy,_ one unhesitatingly accords Mr. Hardy a place among the
English writers of ballads. For this is a genuine ballad, in story, in
diction, and in vigour.

Yet as a whole, and in spite of Mr. Hardy's love of the dance and of
dance music, his poetry lacks grace and movement. His war poem, _Men
Who March Away,_ is singularly halting and awkward. His complete
poetical works are interesting because they proceed from an
interesting mind. His range of thought, both in reminiscence and in
speculation, is immensely wide; his power of concentration recalls
that of Browning.

I have thought sometimes, and thought long and hard.
I have stood before, gone round a serious thing,
Tasked my whole mind to touch and clasp it close,
As I stretch forth my arm to touch this bar.
God and man, and what duty I owe both,--
I dare to say I have confronted these
In thought: but no such faculty helped here.

No such faculty alone could help Mr. Hardy to the highest peaks of
poetry, any more than it served Caponsacchi in his spiritual crisis.
He thinks interesting thoughts, because he has an original mind. It is
possible to be a great poet without possessing much intellectual
wealth; just as it is possible to be a great singer, and yet be both