Oak Street UNCLASSIFIED DEC 3 1 BgJ Volume VI JULY-SEPTEMBER. 1920 Number 4 Published by Randolph-Macon Woman's College Issued Qyarterly BULLETIN OF RANDOLPH-MACON WOMAN'S COLLEGE LYNCHBURG. VA. THE FACTS OF POETRY By PROFESSOR ALFRED ALLAN KERN IN MEMORIAM: Professor Joseph Lamb Armstrong Entered as gecond-class matter January 5, 1915. at the postoffice at Lynchbuigr. Virginia, un(l«r the Act of August 24. 1912. BULLETIN OF RANDOLPH-MACON WOMAN'S COLLEGE THE FACTS OF POETRY By PROFESSOR ALFRED ALLAN KERN IN MEMORIAM: professor Joseph lamb Armstrong Published by Randolph-Macon Woman's College lynchburg, va. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2013 http://archive.org/details/factsofpoetryinnnOOkern The Facts of Poetry^^ By Professor Alfred Allan Kern Poetry hath her facts no less than prose. They may be divided into facts about poetry and facts of poetry. It frequently hap- pens, both in school and college, that too many facts about poetry and too few facts of poetry are taught. The majority of fresh- men seem to have an ineradicable instinct towards memorizing the date of the poet's birth, the name of the little English village in which he was born or of the particular college at Oxford which he attended, the circumstances under which the poem was writ- ten, and any striking incidents in the poet's life, such as divorce, suicide, or sudden death. But even the simplest fact of poetry — the allegory that underlies "Comus," the theme of Gray's ''Elegy," the romanticism in "The Cotter's Saturday Night," or the degeneration of the character of Lucifer in "Paradise Lost" — even when explained fully and clearly by the text-book is, like "the play, the insight, and the stretch" of Raphael to Andrea del Sarto, "out of them, out of them." The exact place and date of Langland's birth are carefully stored away in their minds, which are, however, as bare as Mother Hubbard's cupboard of any understanding of the spirit of Langland's works or his relation to his age — and that notwith- standing the fact that the text-book clearly explains these points and often emphasizes their importance by giving to them a pro- portionate share of space. It follows as a matter of course that if students fail to grasp these points when they are explained to them in the text-book, they are utterly helpless when put face to face with the literature itself. Indeed, many of them refuse to look a poem in the face ; their idea of criticising a poem is to read the criticism of others and then to recast, more or less skill- fully, what they have read. It is quite possible for a student to *An address delivered before the English Section of the Mississippi Teachers' Association in Jackson, Mississippi, May 9, 1920. 4 Bulletin write a well-expressed, thoughtful paper on a poetic subject about which he really knows nothing at all. Part of this apparent inability to learn the facts of poetry is due to mental laziness, to an unwillingness to do real thinking. It is for this reason that the student memorizes the dates of birth and the names of places in his history of English literature and refuses to master or to think-through the deeper parts of the lesson. Furthermore, poetry lends itself only too easily to the delusion that it is to be read and enjoyed, but not to be worked over — as if there w-ere any inherent or necessary contradiction between enjoyment and work. The study of mathematics or of Greek is synonymous in the student's mind with w^ork, but to work over Shelley's ''Skylark" — why the idea is as preposterous to the student as work would be to the bird itself. He reads the poem over once and goes to class with a mind at peace with all below and a mental conscience void of offence, feeling that he has done his whole duty to the poem, the professor, and himself. The common or garden variety of freshman looks upon a poem much as Peter Bell looked upon a primrose : A primrose by the river 's brim A yellow primrose was to him, And it was nothing more. A poem is a poem, in which statement is, so far as he is con- cerned, both the beginning and end of wisdom. Indeed, if the truth were told, poetry delights him not, no nor prose neither.* Poetry to him is not in the role of ordinary literature; it is beyond the pale of plain, everyday English, w^hich he admits must make sense and have a meaning. Poetry belongs to a sort of irresponsible, non compos mentis class of literature which may or may not have any clear meaning. If it have a meaning, why so much the better for it ; but if it have not, like the mad Hamlet in England, it will not be noticed there. Ask the typical student who thinks he has prepared his lesson on Shelley's ''To a Skylark" what the poem is about and he will *A chief reason for his dislike of the latter can be found in the nature of the prose which is oftentimes rammed down his throat. Randolph-Macon Woman's College 5 answer that Shelley is writing about a bird; if questioned fur- ther, he will doubtless recall that the bird was compared to sev- eral objects, some of which he may be able to name. But further than this the deponent testifieth not. There may also be some who, like Stevenson's beggar, though not comprehending in the slightest the meaning of the poem, yet take a pleasure in the mere sound of it, rolling the sound under their tongue or around in their head, as it were. Verily these have their reward, but, like the reward of the Pharisees, it is small and meagre, far short of what it ought to be. As both illustration and proof of the foregoing let me quote a stanza from Gray's "Elegy" exactly as it was given to me in a recent examination. The italics are mine. Full many a gem of purest racerine The dark unf athomed caves of ocean bear ; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen And waste its fragments on the desert air. Is it conceivable that either the first or the fourth line con- veyed any meaning whatever to the sophomore who wrote them? Certainly not. But that did not trouble him in the least; his serenity exceeded that of the ray about which he wrote. Why should they have meant anything? They were poetry. Nor is this merely an isolated example. I have repeatedly had college classes, some of which were composed largely of English teachers holding a bachelor's or master's degree, the members of which, with scarcely an exception, would read the lines from ''Geraint and Enid," ''and as now, Men weed the white horse on the Berkshire hills To keep him bright and clean as heretofore, without having an idea as to what they mean or indeed without becoming aware that they have any meaning whatever. The sur- face meaning of the lines is so incongruous and incomprehen- sible that one would think that it would cause even the most care- less reader to pause in wonder and bewilderment at so astonish- 6 Bulletin ing a statement. But no. It takes more than that to arrest the vagrant attention of a college student preparing tomorrow's les- son in Victorian poetry. Now if this attitude to poetry were limited to the submerged tenth in our classes, we should probably have to seek no farther for the cause, but it will be found prevalent among the best stu- dents in the various classes. If this be so, then we cannot accept mental inertia as a sufficient explanation. The chief reason why college students do not like poetry is because they do not under- stand it, for 7W one will like poetry until it has a meaning for him. The students must be taught that each sentence in a poem has a meaning and that they are expected to find it; that the poem itself has a meaning and that they are expected to find that also. They must be taught to study the poem itself (and not the notes upon it) until they understand it. So far from spoiling the student's appreciation of a poem, such a study will make him like it all the more. It is the simplest sort of psychology that we take an increased interest in anything when we understand it, whether it be an automobile, a football game, or the plan of a battle. Nor is the study of a poem at all at variance with the appreciation or "feeling" of the poem; rather is it in harmony with it. Before we can feel the poem, we must see it; and if we are ever to like poetry, we must feel it. Poetry appeals to the heart (or the soul, if you prefer Poe's doctrine) through the mind. If our liking of poetry is based on no more solid foundation than the pleasant sensation of its rhythm, mingled with a vague and indefinite meaning, it will never amount to much in our lives. Nothing that has been said, either here or elsewhere, should hi taken to imply that melody is a negligible quality in verse or that real and lasting pleasure cannot be obtained from the mere melody. The intention has been merely to stress two facts that often need to be stressed in our classes: first, that memorizing the incidents connected with the composition of the poem or with the life of its author is not studying poetry; and second, that there is to poetry something more than melody, that there is both Randolph-Macon Woman's College 7 melody and matter, and that either quality alone is half itself. The melody not only rests upon and is woven around the mean- ing, but at the same time elevates and intensifies it. Nor is it to be denied that there are many poems whose texture is so delicate, whose content of meaning is so slight or so simple as to defy analysis, but whose music more than makes amends for this deficiency — if deficiency it be. The music and the mes- sage of "Break, break, break," or ''Sweet and low, sweet and low," reach the heart without the aid of commentary or inter- pretation. Nor would one wish to analyze the charm of "An- nabel Lee" — the meaning of the poem is borne along by the sweep of its melody. But such instances as these do not disguise the fact that there is usually method in the poet's madness and much matter could we but observingly distill it out. Just as it is not difficult to demonstrate that the study of literature is the most practical study in the curriculum, just so — and partially because thereof — is it no more difficult to show that there are facts in poetry, facts as plain and simple as that twice two makes four ; and if the difficulty which students appear to have in mastering them be considered, facts as hard and stub- bom as the binomial theorem or a problem in calculus. Of all our poets Shelley is generally acknowledged to be the most ethereal, the least concerned with the practical realities of life. If, therefore, we can find in Shelley's poetry a number of definite and easily recognizable facts, we may take for granted their presence in the rest of English poetry. Let us therefore return to the "Skylark." What are the "facts" in it to which I have alluded? To enumerate some of them briefly, they are, first, the plan of the poem, which, though delicate and slight, is none the less definite and clearly marked. If w^e are to study the thought of the poem, it is necessary that we see the plan or outline upon which this thought is built. The outline is not merely to be memorized, but should be used primarily as a guide to understanding the poem. It is in itself a fact that points the way to other facts more im- portant than itself. 8 Bulletin In the second place, the poem illustrates the Shelleyan char- acteristics of unreality and Ij^ric power. Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert. These opening lines strike the ethereal note, which is intensified by such lines as: Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire, In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun, O 'er which clouds are bright 'ning, Thou dost float and run; Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. Like a star of heaven, In the broad daylight Thou art unseen, What thou art we know not. Teach us, Sprite or Bird, What sweet thoughts are thine, Waking or asleep Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep Than we mortals dream. Surely it is not difficult to establish the fact that the poem illustrates the ethereal nature of Shelley's poetry. That his poetry was ethereal is a fact which every history of English liter- ature emphasizes ; therefore, let us find the fact in the poem and teach it to the student. So shall we learn to know Shelley and to catch at least an echo of his distinctive note ; so shall we show the class that each of the poets has as distinct a note as he has a personality, and that we can no more attain uniformity by Randolph-Macon Woman's College 9 labelling them all "poets" and letting* it go at that, than we can make them all alike by merely calling them men. They differ as poets as widely as they differ as men. The melody of the poem is as real a fact as its outline, but un- fortunately it is not as definite ; it cannot be caught and im- prisoned in outlines or even in words. An intelligent reading of the poem will demonstrate its lyric quality to many who had not previously appreciated it. But even here, in our apprecia- tion of the melody of the poem, is it necessary to have a due regard for facts. To read the poem intelligently, the teacher must understand its meaning thoroughly. The greatest aid to elocution is an understanding mind ; before the poem can mean anything to the class, it must first mean something to the teacher who reads it to the class. "Likewise in the 'Skylark' the flut- tering lift of the bird's movement, the airy ecstasy and rippling gush of its song, are mirrored in the rhythm in a thousand subtly varying effects. ' '* All this is in the melody if only we had the ears to hear it. A third fact in the poem is the presence in it of Shelley's weariness of the w^orld and his devotion to poetry, both of which are fundamental facts in the poet's life. We are thus lifted out of the narrow limits of the poem into the wider field of Shelley's personality. With thy clear, keen joyaiice Languor cannot be; Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee; Thou lovest — but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. We look before and after, And pine for what is not; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. In order not to rest our case on a single poem, let us also ex- amine Shelley's "Ode to the West Wind." In some schools the accepted method of teaching the poem is to read it aloud to the *Moody and Lovett, History of English Literature, page 320. 10 Bulletin class with perhaps a commendatory sentence or two by way of conclusion. Occasionally the reading is prefaced by several de- sultory questions, such as, "Which part of the poem did you like best?," or "What does the poet say about the West Wind?," or "What does the poet say about himself?" The answers to these are often as formless and uncertain as the wind itself. This method is in itself excellent; as has been said, there is no better way to bring out the meaning and melody of a poem than an intelligent reading of it by one who really understands that meaning. But if this were all that there was to it, then the poem is of slight consequence. There are poems — Shakspere's "Un- der the greenwood tree," for instance — whose content of mean- ing can be exhausted by reading them aloud, but Shelley's "Ode to the West Wind" is not one of them. The poem is, in fact, a complete illustration of Shelley's attitude to the world and of his poetic genius. It is not only an index to the poet's char- acter and genius — it is a table of contents as well. If we could understand the poem thoroughly, root and all, and all in all, we should know what Shelley is, both as a man and as a poet. The three qualities for which Shelley is famed as a poet are, to put them briefly and without explanation, his lyric gift, his etherealness, and his myth-making power. The melody of the poem will be apparent at even the first reading. Subsequent readings will bring out the subtle manner in which the movement of the verse suggests "with wonderful truth the streaming and volleying of the wind, interrupted now and then by a sudden lull." The myth-making power of Shelley is evidenced by his per- sonifications of the West Wind. Throughout the poem he ad- dresses it as "Thou." Autumn is also personified; the flying leaves are "pestilence stricken multitudes;" and the Spring breeze is the "azure sister" of the autumnal West Wind and blows "her clarion o'er the dreaming earth." The clouds are "angels of rain and lightning" and also "the locks of the ap- proaching storm;" the wind itself is the "dirge of the dying year." "The blue Mediterranean" is wakened from "his sum- mer dreams" and the sea blooms and "sapless foliage of the Randolph-Macon Woman's College 11 ocean . . . grow gray with fear" at the approach of the West Wind. Certainly no additional evidence of Shelley's fondness for personification is needed. The remoteness of the poem from the world of fact is evident throughout. Having as its theme the incorporeal air, the poem is almost of necessity ethereal, but Shelley has made it noticeably so. Earth, Air, Ocean, and the Spirit of Man are the setting of the poem; the clouds are like ''earth's decaying leaves" shaken from "the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean;" the closing night is "the dome of a vast sepulchre" through which sounds the dirge of the dying year. Even in his description of the Ocean, he leaves the surface to explore its dark, unfathomed caves. The tone of the poem throughout is apart from fact, is ethereal, unearthly — an effect which is to a large extent pro- duced by the myth-making power just discussed. But the two most definite facts in the poem are its plan and its relation to its author. The plan is simplicity itself, but despite the poem's division into cantos and the poet's recapitulation in lines 43-45, many students read it without grasping its plan. Nothing could be simpler than this: First stanza — The leaves Second stanza — The clouds Third stanza — The waves Fourth and fifth stanzas — The poet. The most important fact of the poem, however, is its bearing on Shelley's own life and on his relation to the age in which he lived. In the fourth stanza he shows the influence of the French Revolution upon him in his belief that some external power such as time or custom represses and restrains him, and thus prevents him from rising to his full stature: A heavy weight of hours has chained and bound One too like thee: tameless and swift and proud. In his comparison of himself to the West Wind and his des- cription of himself as "tameless and swift and proud" breaks 12 Bulletin out his intense longing for an ideal freedom such as the French Revolution dreamed of. The three adjectives also give us an insight into his character. Shelley was a born rebel ; he rebelled against the tyranny of the fagging system at Eton, against the oppression and injustice of England's treatment of the Irish people at that time, and, in his union with J\lary Godwin, against public opinion and the moral restraints of his age. This last act, taken in connection with the suicide of his former wife, for which he was held largely respon- sible, forced him to leave England. During all his brief, boyish existence he was kicking against the pricks of life. Thus it is that he prays the West Wind: Oh, lift me as a "wave, a leaf, a cloud! I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed! The essential unreality of Shelley's nature and his passion for an uncontrolled freedom appear in his comparison of himself to a "leaf," a "cloud," a "wave," and in his envy of the freedom of the wind — "only less free than thou, uncontrollable." These ideas reach their fullest expression in the last canto where he identifies the West Wind with himself: Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one! No better illustration could be had of Shelley's own impetuous, uncontrollable nature than in his identification of himself with the unseen, unrestrained power of the air. Shelley's high idealism cannot be separated from his devotion to poetry, the two are inseparably linked together. Poetry was the passion of his soul, the outlet for his idealism, the expres- sion of his dreams, and the means by which they would become realities. Of all poets he is the closest to the spirit of poetry. As in the closing stanzas of "To a Skylark" he gave utterance to his personal sadness, his longing for poetic power, and the influence of that power upon mankind, so here in the closing Randolph-Macon Woman's College 13 stanzas of his "Ode to the West Wind" he strikes even more clearly the same note : Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one! Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth! And, by the incantation of this verse. Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! Be through my lips to unawakened earth The trumpet of a prophecy! O wind. If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? Shelley here expresses a feeling similar to that which Shaks- pere ascribed to himself in the seventy-third Sonnet and which he made Macbeth express in Scene 3, Act V — his feeling that he had lived long enough, that his way of life had fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf. Coupled with his sense of failure in the present is his glowing hope that in the future the ideas expressed in his poetry may have "power on this dead world to make it live" until finally it shall be "wrought to sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not." If we are to teach our students these facts, we must emulate Chaucer's Clerk and his Parson: And gladly wolde he lerne and gladly teche. Cristes lore and his apostles twelve He taughte, but first he folwed it himselve. A love of poetry, or at least a liking for it, must precede and be an integral part of the teaching of it. Unless the teacher under- stands the poem himself, he cannot make his students understand it; unless he himself has found the facts of poetry, he cannot teach others how to find them. We must remember that those 14 Bulletin who study poetry must study it in spirit and in truth; that it is neither in the place of its composition, the date of its birth, nor the pleasure which the sound of it gives that a poem can be truly studied, but in the inner meaning, the soul of the poem. Our students should be taught that poetry means something, that it means intensely and means good, and that to find this meaning is the main purpose of our study of it. This is not only the conclusion of the whole matter but the introduction and the body of the discourse as well. Randolph-Macon Woman's College 15 3n £@emonam JOSEPH LAMB ARMSTRONG, A. M. PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH December 21, 1919 EESOLUTIONS ADOPTED BY THE FACULTY God, in His unsearchable wisdom, having called His servant, Joseph Lamb Armstrong, from labor in this earthly vineyard to the rewards of His higher kingdom, we, his co-laborers here for a time, record this testimonial of his worth and our love: As a member of the faculty of the college from its inception. Professor Armstrong exercised a potent influence in shaping the curriculum and de- termining the policy of the institution. As senior professor and secretary of the faculty, his frankness and cour- tesy secured the fullest confidence and the highest regard of his colleagues. As teacher, a passion for sound scholarship characterized his work. The imprint of thoroughness was stamped upon his pupils. As citizen, he interested himself in the welfare of his community and served it as opportunity offered. As a follower of Christ, his faith was simple and his walk and conver- sation honored Him whom he called Master. As husband, and son and brother, his life was beautiful. We mourn with those who mourn, and commend them to the loving mercies of Him who said, I will not leave you comfortless. (Signed) F. W. MARTIN NELLIE V. POWELL R. W. ARNOLD, JR. Lynchburg, Va., December 21, 1919. Memorial Address in Honor of Prof. Joseph L. Armstrong Delivered in the Chapel of Randolph-Macon Woman's College on January 18, 1920. By Professor F. W. Martin "Wlien I consider life and its few years — A wisp of fog betwixt us and the sun; A call to battle, and the battle done Ere the last echo dies within our ears; A rose choked in the grass; an hour of fears; The gusts that on a darkening shore upbeat; The burst of music down an unlistening street — I wonder at the idleness of tears. Ye old, old dead, and ye of yesternight, Captains, and bards, and keepers of the sheep, By every cup of sorrow that ye had Loose me from tears, and make me see aright How each hath back what once he stayed to weep : Homer his sight ; David his little lad. ' ' We have come together here tonight to honor the memory of a good man, our colleague, your teacher. He loved us. Let love for him be in all our hearts. Who can valuate the worth of a great life ? God, alone. Who can valuate the worth of a good life ? God, alone. Our estimates of our fellowmen do not take account of ultimate worth ; and in framing them we usually dissociate greatness and goodness. But in so doing we betray the fact that our standards are human in- deed ; for nineteen centuries ago our Lord gave us God 's measure for a man : He among you that is greatest shall he the servant of all. Is it not strange that we still go on deluding ourselves with the notion that the great man, or the greatly good man must do some wonderful thing; must stand pre-eminent among men like Saul in the midst of his brethren ; must tower above the multi- Randolph-Macon Woman's College 17 tude like some lofty mountain above the plain; strange that we fail to perceive the obvious : the fruits which nourish and sustain life are home on the level acres. Were we to look for the spectacular in the life of our departed friend, we would probably not find it. So far as I am aware (and I knew him intimately above twenty-six years), it was not there. But that which the world needs much more, without which it cannot go on at all, honesty, sincerity, frankness, filial piety, conjugal devotion, and duty done to the twain mile were there. Appreciation of the true, the beautiful, and the good was there. Understanding of his high calling from God to serve as a molder of young minds and shaper of eternal destinies was there. He saw his task clearly, he guaged his powers accurately, and he wrought his work thoroughly "as unto God." On this occasion, it is fitting that I should give you (so far as I may be able to do so in a few words) some proper appreciation of that work. Perchance it was nobler than you think, greater than you suspect. Most of you have not yet reached that period of life when origins of things engage the attention. Swept along on the pulsing stream of youth, you enjoy whatever the passing moment offers without thought of the provision or of the pro- vider. You make an excursion by railway and never once think of Watts. You send a telegram without a thought of Morse. You chat over the telephone or push a button to turn on the electric light and nothing suggests the names of Graham Bell and Thomas Edison. The thousands of conveniences that form the stately edifice of civilization are ranged in your minds in some vague way along with field and forest and summer and winter as things that have always been. I am not reproaching you for this attitude of mind, which is entirely natural for you thus far. But now I would say to you that you are old enough and mature enough to realize that this orderly frame of nature is God's con- creted thought ; and that every invention is the concreted thought of some man. Thus it is that you are the heirs of the ages; and thus it is that this college has come to you. Randolph-Macon Woman's College did not happen. It was made. It did not spring full grown from the mind of one man. 18 Bulletin It was wrought out in almost continuous conference, debate, and experimentation during the first four years, 1893-97, by the five persons composing the original faculty of president and depart- mental heads. Of these, there were two who thought that we needed a model to work by ; and for this, they would have taken the University of Virginia of the ancient plan inaugurated by Jefferson which even then had become an anachronism and later (1905) was discarded by that institution. But the other three, of whom Professor Armstrong was one, opposed this view. The result was that this college had no model. It imitated no other institution. It was, and is, unique. The outcome more than justified the line of action adopted. Before the end of the first decade the college was accorded the highest educational rating by the national authorities; and its standards for entrance and graduation enforced corresponding changes in every high school and college in the Southern States. In all this work of definition and advancement. Professor Arm- strong was identified with the party of progress, and it often happened that he cast the deciding vote. A college resembles a man in more than one respect, and not least in this: its life consist eth not in the abundance of things that it possesseth. This institution has always been poor in dollars, although (it pleases me to think that) it has been rich above many in the personnel of its faculty and in the quality of its students. The amount of money which we have received from outside sources has been greatly exaggerated in the public mind. The sum of all subscriptions to this college from persons oth^u* than members of the faculty and students is less than five per cent of the total invested and expended here. Or, to put it i*^ another way, this college has been founded, built, equippe . and maintained solely upon the brains of its faculty. Remem^er this : For twenty-six and a half years Professor Armstrong's inird w^s a large part of the working capital upon which these splendid dividends were declared, and of which you are the latest bene- ficiaries; although they will not terminate with you, nor cease ever till time ceases. However, Professor Armstrong's services to the college were not restricted to purely academic matters. His activities were Randolph-Macon Woman's College 19 also manifested in what the materialistic would term a more tan- gible way. A moment ago I mentioned a paltry five per cent of contributions to the college by outsiders. An appreciable frac- tion of this, about one-fifth, is represented by the library; and this was secured by his influence. A library has been termed by some poetical-minded writer 'Hhe soul of a college." I know full well that (as in Egypt, so here) a day will come when there shall arise a generation that knew not Joseph. But I would lay it upon your hearts as you go in and out of our library to occasionally give a grateful thought to the memory of this man of whom we now say that he is dead. ''But is he dead whose noble mind Lifts mine on high? To live in those we leave behind Is not to die." 3 0112 105927724