The ghostly language of the ancient earth,
Or make their dim abode in distant winds,
Thence did I drink the visionary power.”
He speaks, too, of a morning when he had stolen forth before even the birds were astir,
“And sate among the woods
Alone upon some jutting eminence,
At the first gleam of dawnlight, when the vale,
Yet slumbering, lay in utter solitude.
How shall I seek the origin? where find
Faith in the marvelous things which then I felt?