Take the first two verses of _A Lovers' Quarrel_, Oh, what a dawn of day! How the March sun feels like May! All is blue again After last night's rain, And the South dries the hawthorn-spray.
That is well done--he has liked what he saw.

But what is it all, he thinks; what do I care about it?
And he ends the verse: Only, my Love's away! I'd as lief that the blue were grey.
Then take the next verse: Runnels, which rillets swell.
Must be dancing down the dell, With a foaming head On the beryl bed Paven smooth as a hermit's cell.
It is excellent description, but it is only scenery for the real passion in Browning's mind.
Each with a tale to tell-- Could my Love but attend as well.
_By the Fireside_ illustrates the same point.

No description can be better, more close, more observed, than of the whole walk over the hill; but it is mere scenery for the lovers.

The real passion lies in their hearts.
We have then direct description of Nature; direct description of man sometimes as influenced by Nature; sometimes Nature used as the scenery of human passion; but no intermingling of them both.

Each is for ever distinct.