In all this, it is needless to say, Mr. Yeats offers a close parallel.
He understands so perfectly the wild life, that one knows at once that
it is in him, like a fire in his blood. Take this for instance--
"They found a man running there;
He had ragged long grass-coloured hair;
He had knees that stuck out of his hose;
He had puddle water in his shoes;
He had half a cloak to keep him dry,
Although he had a squirrel's eye."
Such perfect observation is possible only to the detached spirit, which
is indeed doing nothing to nature, but only letting nature do her work.
In the sharp outline of this imagery, and in the mind that saw and the
heart that felt it, there is something of the keenness of the squirrel's
eye for nature.
Fiona's favourite part of nature is the sea. That great and many-sided
wonder, whether with its glare of phosphorescence or the stillness of
its dead calm, fascinates the poems of Sharp and lends them its spell.
But of the prose of Fiona it may be truly said that everything
"... doth suffer a sea-change,
Into something rich and strange.
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