Your wits can't thicken in that soft moist air, on those white springy roads, in those misty rushes and brown bogs, on those hills...ides of granite rocks and magenta heather. You've no such colours in the sky, no such lure in the distances, no such sadness in the evenings. Oh the dreaming! the dreaming! the torturing, heart-scalding, never satisfying dreaming, dreaming, dreaming, dreaming!LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »