第8部分(第1/7 页)

Clarence　Hawkes；　has　been　blind　since　childhood；　yet　he　finds　in　nature

hints　of　binations　for　his　mental　pictures。　Out　of　the　knowledge　and

impressions　that　e　to　him　he　constructs　a　masterpiece　which　hangs

upon　the　walls　of　his　thought。　And　into　the　poet's　house　e　all　the

true　spirits　of　the　world。

It　was　a　rare　poet　who　thought　of　the　mountain　as　〃the　first　dim　outline

of　God's　plan。〃　That　is　the　real　wonder　of　the　poem；　and　not　that　a

blind　man　should　speak　so　confidently　of　sky　and　sea。　Our　ideas　of　the

sky　are　an　accumulation　of　touch…glimpses；　literary　allusions；　and　the

observations　of　others；　with　an　emotional　blending　of　all。　My　face　feels

only　a　tiny　portion　of　the　atmosphere；　but　I　go　through　continuous　space

and　feel　the　air　at　every　point；　every　instant。　I　have　been　told　about

the　distances　from　our　earth　to　the　sun；　to　the　other　plas；　and　to

the　fixed　stars。　I　multiply　a　thousand　times　the　utmost　height　and　width

that　my　touch　passes；　and　thus　I　gain　a　deep　sense　of　the　sky's

immensity。

Move　me　along　constantly　over　water；　water；　nothing　but　water；　and　you

give　me　the　solitude；　the　vastness　of　ocean　which　fills　the　eye。　I　have

been　in　a　little　sail…boat　on　the　sea；　when　the　rising　tide　swept　it

toward　the　shore。　May　I　not　understand　the　poet's　figure：　〃The　green　of

spring　overflows　the　earth　like　a　tide〃？　I　have　felt　the　flame　of　a

candle　blow　and　flutter　in　the　breeze。　May　I　not；　then；　say：　〃Myriads　of

fireflies　flit　hither　and　thither　in　the　dew…wet　grass　like　little

fluttering　tapers〃？

bine　the　endless　space　of　air；　the　sun's　warmth；　the　clouds　that　are

described　to　my　understa