A FRINGED GENTIAN 



of music that fits itself to man s needs only in his 

 unquestioning acceptance.&quot; 



But I was thinking of Griselle, and what I 

 wanted to know was why a meadow should call 

 up that maid, and October invite her into every 

 tender picture that it painted on its way. So I 

 asked the Doctor if the beguilement of Nature 

 did not leave something to be desired. I quoted 

 Coleridge at him from memory, 



&quot;It is her largeness and her overflow, 

 Which, being incomplete, disquieteth me so.&quot; 



&quot; I wonder how Coleridge knew it was incom 

 plete,&quot; said the Doctor. &quot; What would you sug 

 gest as its consummation ? &quot; 



&quot;Something human,&quot; I replied. &quot;Art and 

 poetry have always tried to supply it. A beauti 

 ful landscape is like written music which needs a 

 voice or an instrument. Nature would be very 

 lonesome in her loveliest aspects to a man left 

 alone on this earth. It is impossible even for a 

 materialist to look at this scene without peopling 

 it. If the poets had not personified and human 

 ized Nature, it would be like Shakspere s ( Tem 

 pest with Miranda and Prospero left out.&quot; 



&quot;And yet,&quot; said the Doctor, &quot; Nature goes her 

 own way and is never modified or changed by 

 man s imaginings, which in the main are efflor 

 escences of his magnificent and selfish will. When 

 a man is in love, he sees things only through his 

 desires. Artists and poets are always in love. 



185 



