A.E. possessed a sense of the value of letters which enabled him to resist the temptation to overwrite. [...]

The basic element in A.E.’s work, both verse and prose, is its absolute sincerity, and this is the quality which has saved it from being lost in the multitudinous over-production of printed matter. As is possible for a writer to whom literature is not a trade, he has written only out of a need for self-expression, not out of the economic necessities of journalism or book-making. In Ireland, as elsewhere, the degeneration of real talent, under the pressure of newspaper popularity and the exigencies of press work, is not infrequent, especially since “Celticism” has become a commercial asset of incredible utility. To our credit it is true that the greater part of the literature of the Revival has been inspired by motives unconnected with commercialism, and the best is still free from the taint. While it cannot be denied that a great deal of worthless literature may be written by financially disinterested idealists, the reverse seems to be the [221] case in Ireland. [...]

It is the mark of the artistic and intellectual integrity of A.E. that he has not been spoiled by the very real success which has come to him. The form of the latter has been discriminate appreciation on the part of a public wide enough to escape the designation of a clique, yet sufficiently narrow to ensure the freedom of the artist, who is not exposed to the danger of commercial popularity. [...; 222]

The mysticism of A.E. is entirely different from the symbolism which has given Yeats the reputation of being a mystic. That which is purely decorative in the poetry of the latter is, in A.E., the expression of fundamental truths. The author of Homeward chose to formulate his belief in verse, but, as the circumstances of his entry into literature show, he did so on behalf of a definite spiritual propaganda. Consequently, no desire for literary effect, no use of poetic licence, could sway him from his purpose, which was to illustrate from personal experience the mystic faith that was in him. Unlike Yeats, he did not seize merely upon the artistic opportunities of mysticism, though he does record his visions with the eyes and memory of an artist. The externals which attracted the instinct for beauty in Yeats were not lost upon A.E., but he was above all concerned for the inner meaning of the phenomena, whose plastic value alone captured the imagination [223] of the former poet. We have already seen how Yeats allowed his aesthetic sense to outrage the transcendental common-sense of the true visionary. A, E. is not guilty of this, for the reality of his spiritual adventures imposes a restraint upon his artistic imagination, the latter being satisfied only in so far as is congruous with the former. This scrupulous obedience to the desire for veracity has, indeed, exposed the author to the reproach of repetition and monotony. If there be a certain resemblance between many of his pictures, we should rather admire the constancy of his vision than demand the introduction of effective novelties of phrase and image, probably as false as they are acceptable to a certain class of literary exquisite.
‘I know I am a spirit, and that I went forth in old time from the Self-ancestral to labours yet unaccomplished; but, filled ever and again with homesickness, I made these homeward songs by the way.” These words, with which A.E. introduced his first book of verse, should serve as a superscription to the Collected Poems, so completely do they summarise the whole message and tendency of his poetry. All his life he has sung of this conviction of man’s identity with the Divine Power, the Ancestral Self of Eastern philosophy, from whom we are but temporarily divided. The occasion of his poems are those moments of rapture when the seer glimpses some vision reminding him of his immortal destiny, his absorption into Universal Being. The hours of twilight and dawn are those which most usually find the poet rapt in “divine vision,” and to this circumstance must be attributed numerous landscapes whose beauty is undiminished by their being so frequently seen in the same light. A.E. never has recourse to mechanical repetition.  [...; 224]

Instead of reproaching the poet with the monotony of his descriptions, as some critics have done, one is tempted to admire the skill with which he contrives to render his impressions. The genuine feeling underlying them is doubtless the explanation. If sometimes the transcription suggests repetition, it is because words as fresh as the emotion prompting them are not always to be found. A.E. has not the verbal mastery of Yeats; the beauty of his verse is not so deliberate. His success, therefore, within the limits he has imposed upon himself, is all the more considerable. [225]
 [The] distinction between the natural and the supernatural is, after all, a mere convention which A.E. himself does not recognise. In using the term “supernatural” we must remember that it does not exist in the vocabulary of the true mystic.  
The divinity of nature is an essential of A.E.’s faith. Earth is the Great Mother of whom we are  born, and to whom we must return; deity is everywhere. Some of his finest songs have hymned the praise of earth, and it would be difficult to find anything surpassing them in pantheistic ecstasy. The Joy of Earth, The Earth Breath, In the Womb, The Earth Spirit and The Virgin Mother. [...]

It seems as if Yeats had contrived but an artistic, literary image of a popular superstition, whereas A.E. refers the folk legend back to its origins where he finds analogies with his own visions. [...] The difference between the two poets is that Yeats is a symbolist, whereas A.E. is a mystic. They both make use of symbols, but the former does not succeed, as does the latter, in subordinating symbolism to the expression of truth. Yeats becomes enamoured, as it were, of the instrument and loses sight of its purpose. [...]

 This is the renunciation of the true mystic, who cannot be seduced by the shadow of reality. A.E. rarely dwells with that insistence upon detail which so frequently characterises Yeats’s dreams. Where the latter is prodigal of beautiful phrases and suggestive images, A.E. is content to give the merest hint of the wonders he has glimpsed in the hour of exaltation. He will even confess to a powerlessness which would be humiliating to the verbal mastery of Yeats. [...; 231]

[Here Boyd discusses Russell’s prose and fiction at length before concluding:]

He [Russell] has [...] been a vivifying influence in the intellectual life of our time. He has appealed to the spiritual faculties of his own and the younger generation, in a manner which constitutes him a vastly more important figure in our contemporary literature than the mere volume of his work would suggest. As we shall see, he has created a veritable school of young poets, not so much because of his literary achievement as of his personality. This word, in fact, explains his case; A.E. is that most essential requisite in Ireland, - a personality. It is no exaggeration to say that almost every Irish writer of value to-day owes something to the poet, painter and economist, who has become a centre of ideas which are freely at the command of all who seek them. Nor has there been any reluctance to profit by this prodigality of sympathy and imagination. From the doyen repatriate, George Moore, to the youngest poet trembling on the brink of publication, all have acknowledged their debt to A.E. We may count ourselves fortunate that in addition to the gift of his personality we are permitted to claim a special share in the work of the sincerest and profoundest lyric poet of the present time.  His delicate prose [239] and his beautiful verses were wrought on behalf of all who cared for Beauty, for all who had faith in “ the hero in man,” but they were addressed, in the first instance, to Ireland. It is not the least part of the greatness of A.E. that his nationality does not conflict with the international ideal whose achievement marks the progress of humanity.