easing. In France, Italy, the United States, and even in
conservative England, the increase in the number of poems recently
published in this form has been remarkable. The modernists hail this
tendency as the dawn of a new era of freedom, while the conservatives
see poetry falling into decadence and ruin. The right view of the case
probably lies, as it generally does, between the extremes. There is
much beauty to be found in walking in beaten paths or rambling in
fenced-in fields and woods, but perhaps one who sails the skies in an
aeroplane may see visions and feel emotions that never come to those
who wander on foot along the old paths of the woods and fields below.

But it seems to me that it matters little in what form a poem is cast
so long as the form suits the subject, and does not hinder the freedom
of the poet's thought and emotion. And I am old-fashioned enough to
expect that beauty will be revealed as well. Out of this union of
thought, emotion and beauty, we could scarcely fail to get strength
also, which term many modern poets use to cover an ugliness that is
often nothing but disguised weakness. But form alone will not make
even a semblance of poetry as the following lines, unimpeachable in
form, from Sir Walter Scott plainly show:

"Then filled with pity and remorse,
He sorrowed o'er the expiring horse."

Nor can I conceive of more beautiful poetry than the following, by
Richard Aldington, although rhyme and regular metre are absent:

"And we turn from the music of old,
And the hills that we loved and the meads,
And we turn from the fiery day,
And the lips that were over-sweet;
For silently
Brushing the fields with red-shod feet,
With purple robe
Searing the grass as with a sudden flame,
Death,
Thou hast come upon us."

And this brings me to the real purpose of this Foreword--the
explanation of the title of this book. On the hills and plains of
Southern Europe there grows a plant with beautiful indented leaves--the
Acanthus. The Greek artist saw the beauty of these leaves, and, having
arranged and conventionalized them, carved them upon the capitals of
the columns which supported the roofs and pediments of his temples and
public buildings. Since that time, wherever pillars are used in
architecture, one does not have far to look to find acanthus leaves
carved upon them. In the Roman Forum, in Byzantine churches like Saint
Sophia or Saint Mark's, in the Media