pictures—none seem to have mentioned the outstanding difference always and everywhere observable on comparison of these two media of expression. It is simply this, that one is never in doubt as to what is on the canvas, but one is very frequently in doubt as to what is included in Æ.'s poems. Now let us be very careful and very clear. One might say, "We know that there is on the canvas a certain amount of paint, and in the poems a certain number of syllables." But we know much more of what is on the canvas. We may not know the ulterior meaning of the picture, if it have one; we may not know whether the figures wading in the light-flooded sea are illusions of flesh and blood or realities of the spirit; we may not know the secrets of the symbols, but we do know the symbols. But in the poems we sometimes know nothing more than the suite of the syllables. We taste the honey of their sound, but we get no milk of their meaning. They may call up flashes of colour and shape, but these always fade and pass.
We do not know these symbols—if they are symbols. We could not be trusted to recognise
