The praise they give to me;
I hear them chant my titles
From all antiquity.
it is almost uncanny. Here is, if you like, a somewhat derivative diction, but here also is true poetry by every test.
He showed me like a master
That one rose makes a gown:
That looking up to Heaven
Is merely looking down.
Well, I not only wonder how she has learned simple finality of phrase so quickly; I also wonder whether she can possibly realize the philosophical implications of her best poems.
As for imagery, Nathalia’s angels hearing “the hurdy-gurdies in the Candle-Maker’s Row” is an example of her fancy that quickens into imagination. She sees the Oriental bees flying “in golden convoys to the mountains of the moon,” she quizzically presents the pathos of The Dinosaurs’ Eggs; she has “steered by stars that sorrowed, with the moonlight in our wake”; she sees Berkley Common