So fragrant and so still,
So dusky white.

That, stealing from the wood,
In that sweet air,
You'd think Diana stood
Before you there.

If it be so, her bloom
Trembles with bliss.
She waits across the gloom
Her shepherd's kiss.

Touch her. A bird will start
From those pure snows,--
The dark and fluttering heart
Endymion knows.

Alfred Noyes is "among the English poets." His position is secure. But
because he has never identified himself with the "new" poetry--either
in choice of material or in free verse and polyphonic prose--it would
he a mistake to suppose that he is afraid to make metrical
experiments. The fact of the matter is, that after he had mastered the
technique of conventional rime and rhythm, as shown in many of his
lyrical pieces, he began playing new tunes on the old instrument. In
_The Tramp Transfigured_, to which I find myself always returning
in a consideration of his work, because it displays some of the
highest qualities of pure poetry, there are new metrical effects. The
same is true of the Prelude to the _Forest of Wild Thyme_, and of
_The Burial of a Queen_; there are new metres used in _Rank and