Long ere now the joy of space, of room, has laid hold upon him--the more
powerfully if he inhabit a wild and broken region. The human animal
delights in motion and change, motions of his members even violent, and
swiftest changes of place. It is as if he would lay hold of the infinite
by ceaseless abandonment and choice of a never-abiding stand-point, as
if he would lay hold of strength by the consciousness of the strength he
has. He is full of unrest. He must know what lies on the farther shore
of every river, see how the world looks from every hill: _What is
behind? What is beyond?_ is his constant cry. To learn, to gather into
himself, is his longing. Nor do many years pass thus, it may be not many
months, ere the world begins to come alive around him. He begins to feel
that the stars are strange, that the moon is sad, that the sunrise is
mighty. He begins to see in them all the something men call beauty. He
will lie on the sunny bank and gaze into the blue heaven till his soul
seems to float abroad and mingle with the infinite made visible, with
the boundless condensed into colour and shape. The rush of the water
through the still twilight, under the faint gleam of the exhausted west,
makes in his ears a melody he is almost aware he cannot understand.
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