strictly attempt to answer the question that is put. It does not tell us
singly what poetry is, but it speculates upon the cause and effect of
poetry. It enquires into the impulse that moves the poet to creation and
describes, as far as individual limitations will allow, the way in which
the poet's work impresses the world. When Wordsworth says "poetry is the
breath and finer spirit of all knowledge," he is, exactly, in one intuitive
word, telling us how poetry comes into being, directing us with an inspired
gesture to its source, and not strictly telling us what it is; and so
Shelley tells us in his fiery eloquence of the divine functions of poetry.
But poetry is, in its naked being and apart from its cause and effect, a
certain use of words, and, remembering this simple fact, there has been
one perfect and final answer to the question, "What is poetry?" It was
Coleridge's: "Poetry--the best words in the best order."



THE BEST WORDS IN THE BEST ORDER


This is the fundamental thing to be remembered when considering the art of
poetry as such. The whole question of what causes a poet to say this or
that and of the impression that is thence made upon us can be definitely
narrowed down to the question "How does he say it?" The manner of his
utterance is, indeed, the sole evidence before us. To know anything of
a poet but his poetry is, so far as the poetry is concerned, to know
something that may be entertaining, even delightful, but is certainly
inessential. The written word is everything. If it is an imperfect word, no
external circumstance can heighten its value as poetry. We may at times,
knowing of honourable and inspiriting things in a poet's life, read into
his imperfect word a value that it does not possess. When we do this our