I cannot quit this subject without giving two more instances, both exquisite, of the pathetic fallacy, which I have just come upon, in Maud
For a great speculation had fail'd
And ever he mutterd and madden'd, and ever wann'd with despair
And out he walk'd, when the wind like a broken worldling wail'd,
And the flying gold of the ruin'd woodlands drove thro' the air.
There has fallen a splendid tear
From the passion-flower at the gate.
The red rose cries, 'She is near, she is near!'
And the white rose weeps, 'She is late.'
The larkspur listens, 'I hear, I hear!'
And the lily whispers, 'I wait.'