 "Your letter made me very proud and very sad," she wrote.  "Is it possible that I have written verses that are 'filled with beauty,' and is it possible that you really think them worthy of being given to the world? You know how high my ideal of Art is; and to me my poor casual little poems seem to be less than beautiful--I mean with that final enduring beauty that I desire."  And, in another letter, she writes: "I am not a poet really.  I have the vision and the desire, but not the voice.  If I could write just one poem full of beauty and the spirit of greatness, I should be exultantly silent for ever; but I sing just as the birds do, and my songs are as ephemeral."  It is for this bird-like quality of song, it seems to me, that they are to be valued.  They hint, in a sort of delicately evasive way, at a rare temperament, the temperament of a woman of the East, finding expression through a Western language and under partly Western influences