Sans oser voir au fond.... Puis un jour où l'on ose,
Reculer de partout où le regard se pose,
Où fut le feu sacré toucher de froids débris,
Murmurer en tremblant un langage incompris
Où Dieu passa, chercher sa lumineuse trace,
Et n'y trouver plus rien ... rien! pas même un soupir,
Pas un cri douloureux vers l'aube qui s'efface,
C'est trop souffrir!”
The two volumes before us contain many poems, both short and long, of such great freshness and beauty, so full of original turns and delicate touches, that it is difficult to choose from amongst them. However, we have said enough to give a fair notion of Marie Jenna's style, and quite enough to show that it is her own, with its own peculiar charm. And so our task is done. If it be said that, having uttered only praise and found no fault, we have but half fulfilled the critic's task, we answer that we never meant the tone of criticism. All know that man's most perfect work is not without its blemish; but in our first walk through so fair a garden, meeting new beauties on every side, it would have been ungracious in us to have sought defects: that task we leave to others. Ours has been to welcome, and to tell of fresh flowers of much loveliness offered to us from across the sea, with the certainty that no one can read her “Elévations Poétiques” without feeling that he is indebted for some real enjoyment to the charming “Poet of the Vosges.”
The Two Ysondes, and Other Verses.By Edward Ellis. London: Pickering. 1872.