"The tree that moves some to tears of joy Is in the Eyes of the others only a Green thing that stands in the way. Some See Nature all Ridicule & Deformity, & by these I shall not regulate my proportions; & Some Scarce see Nature at all. But to the Eyes of the Man of Imagination, Nature is Imagination itself. As a man is, So he Sees. As the Eye is formed, such are its Powers."William Blake.
The Lovely Night. Now I leave this little hut,Where my beloved lives,Walking now with veiled stepsThrough the shadowy leaves.Luna shines through bush and oak,Zephyr proclaims her path,And the birch trees bowing lowShed incense on her track.How beautiful the coolnessOf this lovely summer night!How the soul fills with happinessIn this true place of quiet!I can scarcely grasp the bliss!Yet, Heaven, I would shunA thousand nights like this,If my darling granted one.GOETHE
Here is a wee boat sitting in the wind.The storm unfolds. Lightning plays about the edges of the clouds. ... ..and a young cow under the summer morning moon, in deep cool shadow... The sky to the north is placid, blue in the afterglow as the storm piles up. It is a flower that will soon reach the apex of its bloom......as the little birds fall silent in the woods, under the silver apples of the moon, the golden apples of the sun...the only secret is in the sunlight, sacred to the sky. The mountain ponies prick their ears, when the earliest stars began to move along the edges of the hills... ..beneath the trees or the glimmering lake, there came a pause of silence, then a gentle shock of mild surprise ....but what we feel is the wind in our faces, the pattering sound of sheep pass by in the snow - flock of thoughts, shivering, desolate, out in the cold.The sea, which no one tends, is also a garden when the sun strikes it and the waves are wakened .. a tremulous delight.My eyes already touch the sunny hill. It has inner light, even from a distance......I have a lovely homeland, the oak trees seem so tall and the violets blow so sweet. It is like a dream. Sylver Boats