Our delight in the sunshine on the deep-bladed grass to-day might be no more than the faint perception of wearied souls, if it were not for the sunshine and the grass in those far-off days which live in us, and transform our perception into love.
George Eliot (Mill on the Floss).
The firmaments of daisies since to me
Have had those mornings in their opening eyes;
The bunched cowslip’s pale transparency
Carries that sunshine of sweet memories,
And wild-rose branches take their finest scent
From those blest hours of infantine content.
George Eliot (Brother and Sister).
It will be observed that the thought is the same in both passages.