I　noted　them。　　The　first　green　leaf　on　the　hawthorn；　the　first
  spike　of　meadow　grass；　the　first　song　of　the　nightingale；　the
  green　ear　of　wheat。　　I　spoke　it　with　the　ear　of　wheat　as　the　sun
  tinted　it　golden；　with　the　whitening　barley；　again　with　the　red　gold　spots
  of　autumn　on　the　beech；　the　buff　oak　leaves；　and　the　gossamer　dew…weighted。
  All　the　larks　over　the　green　corn　sang　it　for　me；　all　the　dear　swallows；　the
  green　leaves　rustled　it；　the　green　brookflags　waved　it；　the　swallows　took　it
  with　them　to　repeat　it　for　me　in　distant　lands。　　By　the　running　brook　I
  meditated　it；　a　flash　of　sunlight　here　in　the　curve；　a　flicker　yonderon　the
  ripples；　the　birds　bathing　in　the　sandy　shallow；　the　rush　of　falling　water。
  As　the　brook　ran　winding　through　the
  meadow；　so　one　thought　ran　winding　through　my　days。
  The　sciences　I　studied　never　checked　it　for　a　moment；　nor　did　the　books　of
  old　philosophy。　　The　sun　was　stronger　than　science；
  the　hills　more　than　philosophy。　　Twice　circumstances　gave　me　a　brief　view　of
  the　sea　then　the　passion　rose　tumultuous　as　the
  waves。　　It　was　very　bitter　to　me　to　leave　the　sea。
  Sometimes　I　spent　the　whole　day　walking　over　the　hills
  searching　for　it；　as　if　the　labour　of　walking　would　force　it
  from　the　ground。　　I　remained　in　the　woods　for　hours；　among　the
  ash　sprays　and　the　fluttering　of　the　ring…doves　at　their　nests；
  the　scent　of　pines　here　and　there；　dreaming　my　prayer。
  My　work　was　most　uncongenial　and　useless；　but　even　then　sometimes　a
  gleam　of　sunlight　on　the　wall；　the　buzz　of　a　bee　at　the　window；　would　bring
  the　thought　to　me。　　Only　to　make　me　miserable；　for　it　was　a　waste　of　golden
  time　while　the　rich　sunlight　streamed　on　hill　and　plain。　　There　was　a
  wrenching　of　the　mind；　a　straining　of　the　mental　sinews；　I　was　forced　to　do
  this；　my　mind　was　yonder。　　Weariness；　exhaustion；　nerve…illness　often
  ensued。　　The　insults　which　are　showered　on　poverty；　long　struggle　of　labour；
  the　heavy　pressure　of　circumstances；　the　unhappiness；　only　stayed　the
  expression　of　the　feeling。　　It　was　always　there。　　Often　in　the　streets　of
  London；　as　the　red　sunset　flamed　over　the　houses；　the　old　thought；　the　old
  prayer；　came。
  Not　only　in　grassy　fields　with　green　leaf　and　running　brook　did
  this　constant　desire　find　renewal。　　More　deeply　still　with
  living　human　beauty；　the　perfection　of　form；　the　simple　fact　of
  form；　ravished　and　always　willravish　me　away。　　In　this　lies　the　outcome　and
  end　of　all　the　loveliness　of　sunshine　and　green　leaf；　of　flowers；　pure
  water；　and　sweet　air。　　This　is　embodiment　and　highest　ex…pression；　the
  scattered；　uncertain；　and　designless　loveliness　of　tree　and　sunlight　brought
  to　shape。　　Through　this　beauty　Iprayed　deepest　and　longest；　and　down　to　this
  hour。　　The　shapethe　divine　idea　of　that　shapethe　swelling　muscle　or　the
  dreamy　limb；　strong　sinew　or　curve　of　bust；　Aphrodite　or　Hercules；　it　is　the
  same。　　That　I　may　have　the　soul…life；　the　soul…nature；　let　divine　beauty
  bring　to　me　divine　soul。　　Swart　Nubian；　white　Greek；　delicate　Italian；
  massive　Scandinavian；　in　all　the　exquisite　pleasure　the　form　gave；　and
  gives；　to　me　immediately　becomes　intense　prayer。
  If　I　could　have　been　in　physical　shape　like　these；　how
  despicable　in　comparison　I　am；　to　be　shapely　of　form　is　so
  infinitely　beyond　wealth；　power；　fame；　all　that　ambition　can　give；　that
  these　are　dust　before　it。　　Unless　of　the　human　form；　no　pictures　hold　me；
  the　rest　are　flat　surfaces。　　So；　too；　with
  the　other　arts；　they　are　dead；　the　potters；　the　architects；
  meaningless；　stony；　and　some　repellent；　like　the　cold　touch　of
  porcelain。　　No　prayer　with　these。　　Only　the　human　form　in　art
  could　raise　it；　and　most　in　statuary。　　I　have　seen　so　little
  good　statuary；　it　is　a　regret　to　me；　still；　that　I　have　is
  beyond　all　other　art。　　Fragments　here；　a　bust　yonder；　the
  broken　pieces　brought　from　Greece；　copies；　plaster　casts；　a
  memory　of　an　Aphrodite；　of　a　Persephone；　of　an　Apollo；　that　is
  all；　but　even　drawings　of　statuary　will　raise　the　prayer。
  These　statues　were　like　myself　full　of　a　thought；　for　ever
  about　to　burst　forth　as　a　bud；　yet　silent　in　the　same　attitude。
  Give　me　to　live　the　soul…life　they　express。　　The　smallest
  fragment　of　marble　carved　in　the　shape　of　the　human　arm　will　wake　the　desire
  I　felt　in　my　hill…prayer。
  Time　went　on；　good　fortune　and　success　never　for　an　instant
  deceived　me　that　they　were　in　themselves　to　be　sought；　only　my
  soul…thought　was　worthy。　　Further　years　bringing　much　suffering；
  grinding　the　very　life　out；　new　troubles；　renewed　insults；　loss
  of　what　hard　labour　had　earned；　the　bitter　question：　Is　it　not
  better　to　leap　into　the　sea？　　These；　too；　have　made　no
  impression；　constant　still　to　the　former　prayer　my　mind　endures。
  It　was　my　chief　regret　that　I　had　not　endeavoured　to　write　these　things；　to
  give　expression　to　this　passion。　　I　am　now　trying；　but　I　see　that　I　shall
  only　in　part　succeed。
  The　same　prayer　comes　to　me　at　this　very　hour。　　It　is　now　less
  solely　associated　with　the　sun　and　sea；　hills；　woods；　or
  beauteous　human　shape。　　It　is　always　within。　It　requires　no　waking；　no
  renewal；　it　is　always　with　me。　　I　am　it；　the　fact　of　my　existence　expresses
  it。After　a　long　interval　I　came　to　the　hills　again；　this　time　by　the　coast。
  I　found　a　deep　hollow　on　the　side　of　a　great　hill；　a　green　concave　opening
  to　the　sea；　where　I　could　rest　and　think　in　perfect　quiet。　　Behind　me　were
  furze　bushes　dried　by　the　heat；　immediately　in　front　dropped　the　steep
  descent　of　the　bowl…like　hollow　which　received　and　brought　up　to　me　the
  faint　sound　of　the　summer　waves。　　Yonder　lay　the　immense　plain　of　sea；　the
  palest　green　under　the　continued　sunshine；　as　though　the　heat　had　evaporated
  the　colour　from　it；　there　was　no　distinct　horizon；　a　heat…mist　inclosed　it
  and　looked　farther　away　than　the　horizon　would　have　done。　　Silence　and
  sunshine；　sea　and　hill　gradually　brought　my　mind　into　the　condition　of
  intense　prayer。　　Day　after　day；　forhours　at　a　time；　I　came　there；　my
  soul…desire　always　the　same。　　Presently　I　began　to　consider　how　I　could　put
  a　part　of　that　prayer　into　form；　giving　it　an　object。　　Could　I　bring　it　into
  such　a　shape　as　would　admit　of　actually　working　upon　the　lines　it　indicated
  for　any　good　？
  One　evening；　when　the　bright　white　star　in　Lyra　was　shining
  almost　at　the　zenith　over　me；　and　the　deep　concave　was　the　more
  profound　in　the　dusk；　I　formulated　it　into　three　divisions。
  First；　I　desired　that　I　might　do　or　find　something　to　exalt　the
  soul；　something　to　enable　it　to　live　its　own　life；　a　more
  powerful　existence　now。　　Secondly；　I　desired　to　be　able　to　do　something　for
  the　flesh；　to　make　a　discovery　or　perfect　a　method　by　which　the　fleshly　body
  might　enjoy　more　pleasure；　longer　life；　and　suffer　less　pain。　　Thirdly；　to
  construct　a　more　flexible　engine　with　which　to　carry　into　execution　the
  design　of　the　will。　I　called　this　the　Lyra　prayer；　to　distinguish　it　from
  the　far　deeper　emotion　in　which　the　soul　was　alone
  concerned。
  Of　the　three　divisions；　the　last　was　of　so　little　importance
  that　it　scarcely　deserved　to　be　named　in　conjunction　with　the
  others。　　Mechanism　increases　conveniencein　no　degree　does　it
  confer　physical　or　moral　perfection。　　The　rudimentary　engines
  employed　thousands　of　years　ago　in　raising　buildings　were　in
  that　respect　equal　to　the　complicated　machines　of　the　present
  day。　　Control　of　iron　and　steel　has　not　altered　or　improved　the
  bodily　man。　　I　even　debated　some　time　whether　such　a　third
  division　should　be　included　at　all。　　Our　bodies　are　now　conveyed
  all　round　the　world　with　ease；　but　obtain　no　advantage。　As　they　start　so
  they　return。　The　most　perfect　human　families　of　ancient　times　were　almost
  stationary；　as　those　of　Greece。　Perfection　of　form　was　found　inSparta；　how
  small　a　spot　compared　to　those　continents　over　which　we　are　now　taken　so
  quickly！　　Such　perfection　of　form　might　perhaps　again　dwell；　contented　and
  complete　in　itself；　on　such　a　strip　of　land　as　I　could　see　between　me　and
  the　sand　of　the　sea。　Again；　a　watch　keeping　correct　time　is　no　guarantee
  that　the　bearer　shall　not　suffer　pain。　　The　owner　of　the　watch　may　be
  soulless；　without　mind…fire；　a　mere　creature。　　No　benefit　to　the
  heart　or　to　the　body　accrues　from　the　most　accurate　mechanism。
  Hence　I　debated　whether　the　third　division　should　be　included。
  But　I　reflected　that　time　cannot　be　put　back　on　the　dial；　we
  cannot　return　to　Sparta；　there　is　an　existent　state　of　things；
  and　existent　multitudes；　and　possibly　a　more　powerful　engine；
  flexible　to　the　will；　might　give　them　that　freedom　which　is　the
  one；　and　the　one　only；　political　or　social　idea　I　possess。　For
  liberty；　therefore；　let　it　be　included。
  For　the　flesh；　this　arm　of　mine；　the　limbs　of　others　gracefully　moving；　let
  me　find　something　that　will　give　them　greater　per…
  fection。　That　the　bones　may　be　firmer；　somewhat　larger　if　that　would　be　an
  advantage；　certainly　stronger；　that　the　cartilage　and　sinews　may　be　more
  enduring；　and　the　muscles　more　powerful；　something　after　the　manner　of　those
  ideal　limbs　and　muscles　sculptured　of　old；　these　in　the　flesh　and　real。　That
  the　organs　of　the　body　may　be　stronger　in　their　action；　perfect；　and
  lasting。　That　the　exterior　flesh　may　be　yet　m