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