English and French literature have stood in constant need of each other,
and it is interesting to note, as concurrent but in no way dependent
upon the present alliance, a new French vitality among our younger
writers of poetry. As some of these latter are too new to presuppose the
reader's familiarity with them, I quote a few poems before venturing to
open a discussion. T.S. Eliot is the most finished, the most composed of
these poets; let us observe his poem "The Hippopotamus," as it appears
in _The Little Review._