Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch (1863 – 1944)
Cornish writer, who published under the pen name of Q.
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I could not find the way to God;
There were too many flaming suns
For signposts, and the fearful road
Led over wastes where millions
Of tangled comets hissed and burned—
I was bewildered and I turned.
Only the heel
Of splendid steel
Shall stand secure on sliding fate,
When golden navies weep their freight.
I am mistaken if a single epigram included fails to preserve at least some faint thrill of the emotion through which it had to pass before the Muse's lips let it fall, with however exquisite deliberation.
O pastoral heart of England! like a psalm
Of green days telling with a quiet beat.
And rather than make the book unwieldy I have eschewed notes—reluctantly when some obscure passage or allusion seemed to ask for a timely word; with more equanimity when the temptation was to criticize or 'appreciate.' For the function of the anthologist includes criticizing in silence.
The best is the best, though a hundred judges have declared it so; nor had it been any feat to search out and insert the second-rate merely because it happened to be recondite.
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