Elinor Wylie
Elinor Wylie is dead. A flame which leapt high is gone out, and the world seems colder for the lack of it. The fire has gone out, but those whom it kindled and those whom it scorched know that it burned clear and strong, pure and ruthless, toward whatever open spaces of immortality may await the spirit that sings as it soars.
In a sense, the work of Elinor Wylie was complete, was finished. Though she died at forty-two, she had perfected her style and delivered her message. Death merely rounded the circle, gave her career a wholeness, a symmetry, as when a thoroughbred racer wins his trophy at the goal which was his starting-point a few moments before.
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Harriet Monroe
Poetry, Vol. 33, No. 5 (Feb., 1929), pp. 266-272
Published by: Poetry Foundation
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20576895
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