...lofty regions — for the fresh green places of refuge which it has offered me in many an hour when 'The fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world Have hung upon the beatings of my heart;' and when I have found in your thoughts and images such relief as the vision of your ' Sylvan Wye,'...

...but a vain belief, yet oh ! how oft, In darkness, and amid the many shapes Of joyless daylight ; when the fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, Have hung upon the beatings of my heart, How oft, in spirit, have I turn'd to thee, Oh sylvan Wye ! Thou wanderer through the woods, How often...

...lofty regions — for the fresh green places of refuge which it has offered me in many an hour when 'The fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world Have hung upon the beatings of my heart;' and when I have found in your thoughts and images such relief as the vision of your ' Sylvan Wye,'...

...in the mind of the young enthusiast desert him in maturer years. "The sounding cataract Haunted him, like a passion ; the tall rock, The mountain, and...gloomy wood. Their colors and their forms, were then to him An appetite ; a feeling and a love That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, or...

...days, And their glad varied moments all gone by) To me was all in all. I cannot paint What then I was. The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion: the...The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite; a feeling and a love That had no need of a remoter...

...me was all in all.—I cannot paint And their glad animal movements, all gone by) What then I was. The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion: the...The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite: a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter...

...lofty regions — for the fresh green places of refuge which it has offered me in many an hour when ' The fretful stir Unprofitable. and the fever of the world Have hung upon the beatings of my heart;' and when 1 have found in your thoughts and images such relief as the vision of your ' Sylvan Wye,'...

...but a vain belief, yet, oh ! how oft, In darkness, and amid the many shapes Of joyless daylight, when the fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, Have hung upon the beatings of my heart, — How oft in spirit have I turned to thee, O sylvan Wye ! Thou wanderer through the woods, How often...

...indeed, he worshipped natural objects with an almost pagan illtenuity. I cannot paint What then I was. The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion; the...colors and their forms were then to me An appetite. In these things he then neither saw nor required any symbolism. But presently there came a change,...

...And their glad animal movements all gone by) To me was all in all — I cannot paint What then I was. of the blest; And human voices, on the silent air,...the waves in songs of gladness there! Chosen of men colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite ; a feeling and a love That had no need of a remoter...