ABSTRACT
After beginning the Nineteen Twenties by luxuriating in post-war disillusionment, intellectuals began to look about for a less empty topic. Those who were poor and indignant took up Marxism. The wealthy and exhausted took up Freudianism. Only poetry lagged behind. The newest star – T.S. Eliot’s – had risen over a Waste Land. It did move on, but to take its stand above a secluded garden dedicated to the pruned Catholicism of the High Anglicans. The times were not going that way. What poet would be their fellow-traveler in their pilgrimage away from Canterbury?
