. Backgrounds of literature. was to widen without impairing the circle ofcomprehension and devotion which wove aboutthe poet a magical barrier against the coldnessof the world. No man of genius ever owedmore to women than Wordsworth, and nonehas more richly repaid their devotion; for nonehas interpreted the finest qualities of woman-hood with greater purity of insight. The mostmagnificent compliment ever paid to a womanwas penned by Shakespeare, whose genius isnever more searching in its insight or felicitousin phrase than when it deals with ideal women;but Wordsworths tributes to the highest
. Backgrounds of literature. was to widen without impairing the circle ofcomprehension and devotion which wove aboutthe poet a magical barrier against the coldnessof the world. No man of genius ever owedmore to women than Wordsworth, and nonehas more richly repaid their devotion; for nonehas interpreted the finest qualities of woman-hood with greater purity of insight. The mostmagnificent compliment ever paid to a womanwas penned by Shakespeare, whose genius isnever more searching in its insight or felicitousin phrase than when it deals with ideal women;but Wordsworths tributes to the highest quali-ties of womanhood are unsurpassed in delicacyand dignity. Who has ever spoken of womanwith a finer instinct than the poet who wrote: And she hath smiles to earth unknown;Smiles, that with motion of their ownDo spread, and sink, and rise;That come and go with endless play,And ever, as they pass away,Are hidden in her eyes. But Dove Cottage was but a personal shelterin a country which, in its entirety, was the home 40 ?5. AND WORDSWORTH of Wordsworths genius. This is the placewhere he keeps his books, said a servant tothe visitor at Rydal Mount; his study is out-of-doors. From 1798 to the hour of hisdeath in 1850 the poet Hved in the larger worldwhich spread from his door to the horizon. Heknew every path, summit, glen, ravine, outlookin that country; he was on intimate terms withevery flower, tree, bird; he saw the most deli-cate and elusive play of expression on the faceof that world, the shy motions of its most fugi-tive life; he heard every sound which issuedfrom it. One has to walk but a little way fromthe cottage to see, spread before him, the ma-jesty and loveliness of that landscape. The oldroad from Grasmere to Ambleside, whichWordsworth haunted not only with his pres-ence but with the murmured tones of his verse,climbs the near hill, and there lies the vasterworld!—the little blue-gray village of Gras-mere, at the head of the lake on the right, withthe great mas
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