. In the forest of Arden. had fed the world for generations, andwhose names were on all lips, but theynever spoke of the books they had writ-ten, the pictures they had painted, themusic they had composed. And, strangeto say, it was not because of thesesplendid works that we were drawnto them; it was the quality of theirnatures, the deep, compelling charm oftheir minds, which filled us with joy intheir companionship. In Arden it is asmall matter that Shakespeare haswritten ^^Hamlet,^^ or Wordsworth the** Ode on Immortality **; not that whichthey have accomplished but that whichthey are in thems
. In the forest of Arden. had fed the world for generations, andwhose names were on all lips, but theynever spoke of the books they had writ-ten, the pictures they had painted, themusic they had composed. And, strangeto say, it was not because of thesesplendid works that we were drawnto them; it was the quality of theirnatures, the deep, compelling charm oftheir minds, which filled us with joy intheir companionship. In Arden it is asmall matter that Shakespeare haswritten ^^Hamlet,^^ or Wordsworth the** Ode on Immortality **; not that whichthey have accomplished but that whichthey are in themselves gives thesenames a lustre in Arden such as shinesfrom no crown of fame in the outerworld. Rosalind and I had dreamedthat we might meet some of thosewhose words had been the food ofimmortal hope to us, but we almostdreaded that nearer acquaintance which (If Ir^.
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Keywords: ., bookauthormabieham, bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookyear1903
