Then I was in danger of being content with it; of mistaking the finite for the infinite beauty.

To be satisfied--that was the peril.

Now I see the natural world as it is, without the rainbow hues the soul bestowed upon it.

Is that well?
In one sense yes.
And now?
The lambent flame is--where?
Lost from the naked world: earth, sky, Hill, vale, tree, flower--Italia's rare O'er-running beauty crowds the eye-- But flame ?--The Bush is bare.
All is distinct, naked, clear, Nature and nothing else.

Have I lost anything in getting down to fact instead of to fancy?
Have I shut my eyes in pain--pain for disillusion?
No--now I know that my home is not in Nature; there is no awe and splendour in her which can keep me with her.