One of the deepest and strangest of allmoods is the mood which will suddenly strike us perhaps in a garden at , or deep in sloping meadows, thethat everyand leaf has just uttered something stupendously direct and important, and that we have by a prodigy of imbecility not heard or understood it. There is a certain, and that a genuine one, in this sense of having missed the fullof things. There is , not only in , but in this dazed and dramatic .

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