He loved the unkind, heedless world; life was
wonderful to him. "What do I think of Wasson?" said Professor James of
Harvard, a few days after his death, "I look upon him as one of the
great instructors of mankind."
It was complained by a critic of Emerson's "Parnassus" that only two of
Wasson's poems were to be found in that collection; and Alcott, who had
a keen scent for superior literature, once turned a visitor out of his
study for denying the superiority of Wasson's poetry. Many of his
sonnets are gems, unsurpassed in any language, and the one called
"Pride" seems to me in its grand simplicity to be without a rival. If
there is any American poem which sings itself like "All's well," it is
Longfellow's ballad of "Mary Garvin." "The Plover" has a pensive grace
which is as rare as its subtile and elevated thought. They are however
few in number and he did not think there was enough of them to publish
in a volume. They were finally published _post mortem_ in what was,
if the truth be told, a rather unfortunate manner. Two of his finest
sonnets, on "Silence" and "Wendell Phillips," were by mischance omitted,
and a good many included that were either failures or written for some
trifling occasion, and never intended for publication. As if to prevent
all chance of popularity, the best pieces were placed at the close of
the book and a long unfinished Hegelian poem at the beginning.
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