attachment to it as much as the author himself. When you realise that the expression or words always mislead you, often making themselves an obstacle to a mood or an illusion, it will be seen what a literary achievement it is when one can say a thing which passes well as real poetry in such a small compass mentioned before; to say "suggestive" is simple enough, the important question is how? Although I know it sounds rather arbitrary, I may say that such a result may be gained partly (remember, only partly) through determination in the rejection of inessentials from the phrase and the insistence upon economy of the inner thought; just at this moment, while I write this article, my mind is suddenly recalled to the word which my old California poet-friend used to exclaim: "Cut short, cut short, and again cut short!"
The other day I happened to read the work of Miss Lizette Wordworth Reese, whose sensitiveness, the sweetest of all femininity for any age or race, expressed in language of pearl-like simplicity, whether studied or not, makes me think of her as a Japanese poet among Americans. When I read "A White Lilac" from A Quiet Road (what a title with the sixteenth-century dreaminess) I was at once struck by her sensitiveness to odour; as a better specimen let me give you the following:
