. In the old paths: memories of literary pilgrimages . at Rome, a Renaissance porch formingthe entrance to a Gothic church, and yet one forgetsthe incongruity on account of its beauty and associa-tions. But it is of the Fairford and not the Oxford that I am writing, and so I leave the dream-city of Thyrsis and The Scholar-Gipsy far westward the course of the Thames, I mustpass unvisited beautiful Kelmscott, the earthly para-dise of William Morris. At Lechlade I lingered fora while in the churchyard where Shelley in a calmsummer evening in 1815 wrote a poem full of the
. In the old paths: memories of literary pilgrimages . at Rome, a Renaissance porch formingthe entrance to a Gothic church, and yet one forgetsthe incongruity on account of its beauty and associa-tions. But it is of the Fairford and not the Oxford that I am writing, and so I leave the dream-city of Thyrsis and The Scholar-Gipsy far westward the course of the Thames, I mustpass unvisited beautiful Kelmscott, the earthly para-dise of William Morris. At Lechlade I lingered fora while in the churchyard where Shelley in a calmsummer evening in 1815 wrote a poem full of thehaunting peace of CoUinss Ode to Evening, anddreamed of Lechlade spire. This quiet Cotswoldvillage was flooded with sunshine as I leaned over theparapet of its thirteenth-century bridge and rested myeyes on the green meadow-lands of the striplingThames with its pollarded willows and graceful poplarsand a wide vista of flat country beyond, bounded bywooded heights far to the south. On the way to Fair-ford the jreat chestnuts were almost regal in their.
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, bookpublisherlondo, bookyear1913
