"
"Yet Nature never set forth the earth in so rich tapestry as divers poets
have done; neither with so pleasant rivers, fruitful trees, sweet-smelling
flowers, nor whatsoever else may make the too-much-loved earth more
lovely." [12]
In the smokiest city the poet will transport us, as if by enchantment, to
the fresh air and bright sun, to the murmur of woods and leaves and water,
to the ripple of waves upon sand, and enable us, as in some delightful
dream, to cast off the cares and troubles of life.
The poet, indeed, must have more true knowledge, not only of human nature,
but of all Nature, than other men are gifted with.
Crabbe Robinson tells us that when a stranger once asked permission to see
Wordsworth's study, the maid said, "This is master's Library, but he
studies in the fields." No wonder then that Nature has been said to return
the poet's love.
"Call it not vain;-they do not err
Who say that, when the poet dies,
Mute Nature mourns her worshipper,
And celebrates his obsequies.
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