express in words the total impression made upon us, but only that
amount of it for which we possess a language of sufficient range and
power and flexibility. For an impression has permanence and value--
indeed one may go further and say has reality--only in so far as it is
fixed and recorded in language, whether in the language of words or
that of colours, forms, and sounds.

First in the natural order comes that simply sensuous view of the
outer world, where combination and selection have as yet little or no
part. Objects are distinct from one another, each creates a single
impression, and the effect of each is summed up in a single phrase.
The "constant epithet" of early poetry is a survival of this stage of
thought; nature is a series of things, every one of which has its
special note; "green grass," "wet water." Here the feeling for Nature
likewise is simple and sensuous; the pleasure of shade and cool water
in summer, of soft grass to lie on, of the flowers and warm sunshine
of spring.

Then out of this infancy of feeling rises the curiosity of childhood;
no longer content with noting and recording the obvious aspects of
Nature, man observes and inquires and pays attention. The more
attention is paid, the more is seen: and an immense growth follows in
the language of poetry. To express the feeling for nature description
becomes necessary, and this again involves, in order that the work may
not be endless, selection and composition.

Again, upon this comes the sentimental feeling for Nature, a sort of
sympathy created by interest and imagination. Among early races this,
like other feelings, expresses itself in the forms of mythology, and
half personifies the outer world, giving the tree her Dryad and the