It is all full of them. The most prosaic of prosers uses poetical language without knowing it—and Poets without knowing to what extent and degree.
NORTH.
Ay, Seward, and were we to expatiate in the walks of the profounder emotions, we should sometimes be startled by the sudden apparitions of boldly impersonated Thoughts, upon occasions that did not seem to promise them—where you might have thought that interests of overwhelming moment would have effectually banished the play of imagination.
TALBOYS.
Shakspeare is justified, then—and the Lady Julia spoke like a Lady in Love with all nature—and with Proteus.
BULLER.
A most beautiful day is this indeed—but it is a Puzzler.
"The Swan on still St Mary's Lake
Floats double, Swan and Shadow;"
But here all the islands float double—and all the castles and abbeys—and all the hills and mountains—and all the clouds and boats and men,—double, did I say—triple—quadruple,—we are here, and there, and everywhere, and nowhere, all at the same moment. Inishail, I have you—no—Gutta Percha slides over you, and you have no material existence. Very well.
SEWARD.