whom Wordsworth wrote:-

"A primrose by a river's brim
A yellow primrose was to him,
And it was nothing more."

But we will not be like these, we will open our eyes and ask,
"What are these forces or fairies, and how can we see them?"

Just go out into the country, and sit down quietly and watch
nature at work. Listen to the wind as it blows, look at the
clouds rolling overhead, and waves rippling on the pond at your
feet. Hearken to the brook as it flows by, watch the flower-buds
opening one by one, and then ask yourself, "How all this is
done?" Go out in the evening and see the dew gather drop by drop
upon the grass, or trace the delicate hoar-frost crystals which
bespangle every blade on a winter's morning. Look at the vivid
flashes of lightening in a storm, and listen to the pealing
thunder: and then tell me, by what machinery is all this
wonderful work done? Man does none of it, neither could he stop
it if he were to try; for it is all the work of those invisible
forces or fairies whose acquaintance I wish you to make. Day and
night, summer and winter, storm or calm, these fairies are at
work, and we may hear them and know them, and make friends of
them if we will.

There is only one gift we must have before we can learn to know
them - we must have imagination. I do not mean mere fancy, which
creates unreal images and impossible monsters, but imagination,
the power of making pictures or images in our mind, of that which