"I look to you to crush all this false mysticism. Crush it; you can do it if you like; you are the man to do it."
Although C. P. had seen the proofs he had not met F. T. before the publication of _Poems_ or his criticism of it in the _Fortnightly_. The proofs bear the marks of a critic intolerant of everything in which he detected excess of diction or imagery. One short poem he struck clean out, with the comment "It will do harm." He was the elder with a system, the master who knew "the end and aim of poetry," but later, speaking as with words fully weighed, he said in talk with F. T., "I am not sure you may not be a greater poet than I am."
_Sister Songs_, published two years later, belongs to the same period of composition as _Poems_. In all the poetry there is personal revelation, his own experience being the invisible wind that moves the cloudy pageant of his verse. But in _Sister Songs_ we see the experience itself; he alludes to his nights in the streets, and can here say with Donne: ". . . my verse, the strict map of my misery. . . ." But not in the first place is it a poem of sad experience, an unfit offering for little girls. It is what it would be--beautiful, elaborate, innocent. The second part is addressed to Monica Meynell; the first is a dance of words in honour of a younger sister--"For homage unto Sylvia, her sweet, feat ways."
"I have been wondering what criticisms had appeared on Mrs. Meynell. I have seen none, except the _Fortnightly_ and the _Chronicle_. Coventry all abroad about her poetry, Le Gallienne all abroad about her prose. But the latter's notice of her poetry showed real perception. Coventry was excellent with regard to the side of her prose which he had seized; but rather provoking for seizing it, since he has sent the _Chronicle_ off after him on what is a false trail. The side is there; but it is not the prominent side, and certainly not the side most markedly characteristic of her."
"MY DEAR THOMPSON,--I am glad you think as I do about those 'wonderful verses' (A. M.'s). I have quoted your words in a letter I have written to our Friend. They will delight her greatly. . . .
"It is good news that you are writing prose. You know how perfectly great I think what I have read of your prose. After all, the greatest things must be said in prose. Music is too weak to follow the highest thought. I will try and go to Pantasaph as soon as I have arranged some engagements which have come into the foreground since I wrote to you.