Such mystics as
these are in touch with far-off things. Sharp, indeed, was led
definitely to follow such leading into regions of spiritualism where not
many of his readers will be able or willing to follow him, but Fiona
Macleod left the mystery vague. It might easily have defined itself in
some sort of pantheistic theory of the universe, but it never did so.
"The green fire" is more than the sap which flows through the roots of
the trees. It is as Alfred de Musset has called it, the blood that
courses through the veins of God. As we realise the full force of that
imaginative phrase, the dark roots of trees instinct with life, and the
royal liquor rising to its foam of leaves, we have something very like
Fiona's mystic sense of nature. Any extreme moment of human experience
will give an interpretation of such symbolism--love or death or the mere
springtide of the year.
It is not without significance that Sharp and Mr. Yeats and Mr. Symons
all dreamed on the same night the curious dream of a beautiful woman
shooting arrows among the stars. All the three had indeed the beautiful
woman in the heart of them, and in far-darting thoughts and imaginations
she was ever sending arrows among the stars.
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