As a boy he constructed so vividly in imagination that he came to believe in the living reality of his creations: for everybody and everything he found names--real names. Inside him somewhere stretched immense playgrounds, compared to which the hay-fields and lawns of his father's estate seemed trivial: plains without horizon, seas deep enough to float the planets like corks, and "such tremendous forests" with "trees like tall pointed hilltops." He had only to close his eyes, drop his thoughts inwards, sink after them himself, call aloud and--see. His imagination conceived and bore--worlds; but nothing in these worlds became alive until he discovered its true and living name. The name was t…
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