Romance is the truth of imagination and boyhood. Homers horses clear the world at a bound. The childs eye needs no horizon to its prospect . The palace that grew up in a night merely awakens a wish to live in it. The impossibilities of fifty years are the commonplaces of five.
Whatever is pure is also simple. It does not keep the eye on itself. The observer forgets the window in the landscape it displays. A fine style gives the view of fancyits figures, its trees, or its palaceswithout a spot.