fiery, eager, sensitive man, with a burning passion to express himself
on moral and political ideas, learned the mastery of his art before he
had anything to say.

Perhaps, being a thoroughly honest craftsman, he felt that he ought to
keep his thoughts to himself, until he knew how to express them. After
proving it on an impersonal romance, he was then ready to speak his
mind. No poet has spoken his mind more plainly.

In an interesting address, delivered in various cities in the United
States, and published in 1913, called _The Poet's Place in the
Scheme of Life,_ Mr. Watson said, "Since my arrival on these shores
I have been told that here also the public interest in poetry is
visibly on the wane." Now whoever told him that was mistaken. The
public interest in poetry and in poets has visibly _wox_, to use
Mr. Watson's word. It is always true that an original genius, like
Browning, like Ibsen, like Wagner, must wait some time for public
recognition, although these three all lived long enough to receive not
only appreciation, but idolatry; but the "reading public" has no
difficulty in recognizing immediately first-rate work, when it is
produced in the familiar forms of art. In the Preface that preceded
his printed lecture, Mr. Watson complained with some natural
resentment, though with no petulance, that his poem, _King
Alfred_, starred as it was from the old armories of literature,
received scarcely any critical comment, and attracted no attention.
But the reason is plain enough--_King Alfred_, as a whole, is a
dull poem, and is therefore not provocative of eager discussion. The
critics and the public rose in reverence before _Wordsworth's
Grave_, because it is a noble work of art. Its author did not have
to tell us of its beauty--it was as clear as a cathedral.