life he believed himself a poet and in the creative sense of the word he was
assuredly justified, but he meant it in the singing sense as well, and there his
claim can only be admitted with serious qualifications. But whether he was a
singer or not the hopes founded on this book were extravagant; he expected to
make not only reputation by it, but a large amount of money, and money is not
often made in England by poetry.
The book had an extraordinary success, greater, it may safely be said, than any
first book of real poetry has ever had in England or indeed is ever likely to
have: four editions were sold in a few weeks. Two of the Sonnets in the book
were addressed to Ellen Terry, one as "Portia," the other as "Henrietta Maria";
and these partly account for the book's popularity, for Miss Terry was delighted
with them and praised the book and its author to the skies. (In her
"Recollections" Miss Terry says that she was more impressed by the genius of
Oscar Wilde and of Whistler than by that of any other men.) I reproduce the
"Henrietta Maria" sonnet here as a fair specimen of the work:
QUEEN HENRIETTA MARIA
In the lone tent, waiting for victory,
She stands with eyes marred by the mists of pain,
Like some wan lily overdrenched with rain:
The clamorous clang of arms, the ensanguined sky,
War's ruin, and the wreck of chivalry,
To her proud soul no common fear can bring:
Bravely she tarrieth for her Lord the King,
Her soul aflame with passionate ecstasy.
O Hair of Gold! O Crimson Lips! O Face!
Made for the luring and the love of man!
With thee I do forget the toil and stress,
The loveless road that knows no resting-place,
Time's straitened pulse, the soul's dread weariness,
My freedom and my life republican.
Lyric poetry is by its excellence the chief art of England, as music is the
art of Germany. A book of poetry is almost sure of fair appreciation in the
English press which does not trouble to notice a "Sartor Resartus" or the first
essays of an Emerson. The excessive consideration given to Oscar's book by the
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