ent.

The second cause of his continued power of attraction is doubtless
allied to the first; it is a _naivete_ of a particular kind, which
differs from the profound ingenuousness of which we have spoken by the
fact that it is employed deliberately. Conscious simplicity is art, and
if it is successful art of no mean order, Ronsard's method of admitting
us, as it were, to his conversation with himself is definitely his own.
His interruptions of a verse with 'Ha' or 'He'; his 'Mon Dieu, que
j'aime!' or 'He, que ne suis-je puce?' (the difference between Ronsard's
flea and Donne's would be worth examination) have in them an element of
irresistible _bonhomie_. We feel that he is making us his confidant. He
does not have to tear agonies out of himself, so that what he confides
has no chance of making explicit any secrets of our own. There is
nothing dangerous about him; we know that he is as safe as we are. We
are in conversation, not communion. But how effective and engaging it
is!

'Vous ne le voulez pas? Eh bien, je suis contant ...'

'He, Dieu du ciel, je n'eusse pas pense
Qu'un seul depart eust cause tant de peine!...'

or the still more casual

'Un joieus deplaisir qui douteus l'epointelle,
Quoi l'epointelle! aincois le genne et le martelle ...'

Of this device of style our own Elizabethans were to make more
profitable use than Ronsard. At their best they packed an intensity of
dramatic significance into conversational language, of which Ronsard had
no inkling; and even a strict contemporary of his, like Wyatt, could
touch cords more intimate by the same means. But, on the other hand,
Ronsard never fails of his own effect, which is not to convince us
emotionally, but to compel us to listen. His unexpected address to
himself or to us is a new ornament for us to admire, not a new method
for him to express a new thing; and the suggestion of new rhythms that
might thus be attained is never fully worked out.

'Mais tu ne seras plus? Et puis?... quand la paleur
Qui blemist notre corps sans chaleur ne lumiere
Nous perd le sentiment?...

The ampleness of that reverberance is almost isolated.

Ronsard's resources are indeed few. But he needed few. His simple mind
was at ease in machinery of commonplaces, and he makes the pleasant
impression of one to whom commonplaces are real. He felt them all over
again. One imagines him reading the classics--the Iliad in three days,
or his beloved companion 'sous l