A Lover of Nature and the Language of the Sensation, the Anchor of My Pure Thoughts

"I cannot paint what then i was. The sounding cataract haunted me like a passion," he writes. "The tall rock the mountain and the deep and gloomy wood, their colors and their forms were then to me, an appetite, a ling and love that had no need of a remoter charm by thoughts supplied." He adds: 'Oh, yet, a little wild may i behold in thee what i was once, my dear, dear sister'