The artist's task, however, is to make others see; for all Art is revelation. This he does chiefly by the great instrument of inspiration, Choice. He chooses the portion or phase of Truth that he is to reveal, and he chooses the veils that he must impose in order to make that Truth visible. Here it is that the artist is liable to obscurity. He is apt to lose the consciousness of his purpose of revelation to others in the overwhelming devotion that the vision requires. Then it is that the quality of his inspiration decides the nature of the obscurity that is certain to result. If his vision be powerful and his inspiration deep he will choose to scale the topless peaks of beauty and attempt to set down the splendour of the spreading plains of Truth. He will fail to clothe his vision with the necessary veils. His work will have the obscurity of Nature. If, on the other hand, his inspiration be more subtle and superficial, running hither and thither in intricate mazes of wonder, he will multiply veils on detailed portions of his subject, adding one to another according as the various points of view and possible relations of parts come within his cognizance. His work will have the obscurity of Art.

As the principle of all Art can be exemplified in the production of any Art, and as poetry is the most satisfying of all the Arts, better examples could not be chosen to demonstrate the obscurities of Mist and Mystery than two poets in whose works these opposite tendencies exist. It so happens that something of one of each of these tendencies to obscurity may be observed in two books of poems that have just been issued.