the autumn noon
Rightly , then , in a typical sense , might this fair creature , so airy in her shape , so harmonious in her beauty , so unfamiliar in her ways and thoughts , -- rightly might she be called a daughter , less of the musician than the music , a being for whom you could imagine that some fate was reserved , less of actual life than the romance which , to eyes that can see , and hearts that can feel , glides ever along WITH the actual life , stream by stream , to the Dark Ocean . And therefore it seemed not strange that Viola herself , even in childhood , and yet more as she bloomed into the sweet seriousness of virgin youth , should fancy her life ordained for a lot , whether of bliss or woe , that should accord with the romance and reverie which made the atmosphere she breathed . Frequently she would climb through the thickets that clothed the neighbouring grotto of Posilipo , -- the mighty work of the old Cimmerians , -- and , seated by the haunted Tomb of Virgil , indulge those visions , the subtle vagueness of which no poetry can render palpable and defined ; for the Poet that surpasses all who ever sang , is the heart of dreaming youth ! Frequently there , too , beside the threshold over which the vine-leaves clung , and facing that dark-blue , waveless sea , she would sit in the autumn noon or summer twilight , and build her castles in the air . Who doth not do the same , -- not in youth alone , but with the dimmed hopes of age ! It is man 's prerogative to dream , the common royalty of peasant and of king . But those day-dreams of hers were more habitual , distinct , and solemn than the greater part of us indulge .