Excerpt from A Bunch of Pansies
WE should constantly remember, in perusing the following simple poems, that their authoress is blind. Not one who has once seen, and in her childish years looked on the forms of nature, which she loves, kindled to brightness, and outlined by living light and bathed in beauteous colors, and so enriched her fancy by the images of vision. She has never seen. To one born blind, the ear and fingers perform the ofiice of the eye. Of a world of ideas, another’s narra tive, another’s description, is the sole substitute for her own obser vation and experience. Judge what conception can be formed of colors by one who lacks the sense to which alone color is addressed.
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