All the wild and whirling things that are let loose depend upon one thing that is forbidden.

Mr.
W.B.Yeats, in his exquisite and piercing elfin poetry, describes the elves as lawless; they plunge in innocent anarchy on the unbridled horses of the air-- "Ride on the crest of the dishevelled tide, And dance upon the mountains like a flame." It is a dreadful thing to say that Mr.W.B.Yeats does not understand fairyland.

But I do say it.

He is an ironical Irishman, full of intellectual reactions.

He is not stupid enough to understand fairyland.