
I have sent to you the "Galaxy"; It contains two articles, one on Whitman and one on Swinburne,—I have read both criticisms, with great satisfaction. Richard Grant White has but paid just sympathy to a true poet "Swinburne"; The criticism
is a "Poem," in itself. It has the comprehensiveness, and the fearless recognition of
the divine idea, or sentiment of "Love," as expressed by the Poet, he writes
upon—Swinburne electrifies me. I read one verse of his "Laus Veneris," in a store,
and bought the book—When critics or ordinary readers, or writers scribble him
down, the Sun will cease to procreate and vitalize the earth. He is
cultivated, and "passion" is his subject—"St Dorothy" is saddening, and the
"Leper" oh how passionately full of piteous Love—and the "Orchard" oh! the night
is all starrd by it, and earth burdend with dewy fragrancies fragrances
—
There is enough beauty in your "Leaves" to make a rare book, and not cast out sensuous extravagance either. But you are wonderfully, woefully mistaken in the privileage privilege you take of being, merely savagely material, and consequently offensively vulgar—Han is much better, than usual, and is continualy continually promising to write to her Mother.
C L Heyde