They arose in my mind as ‘given’ things, and as they came, separately, so too the links grew. Of course, such an overweening purpose did not develop all at once. The cycles should be linked to a majestic whole, and yet leave scope for other minds and hands, wielding paint and music and drama. I would draw some of the great tales in fullness, and leave many only placed in the scheme, and sketched. It should possess the tone and quality that I desired, somewhat cool and clear, be redolent of our ‘air’ (the clime and soil of the North West, meaning Britain and the hither parts of Europe: not Italy or the Aegean, still less the East), and, while possessing (if I could achieve it) the fair elusive beauty that some call Celtic (though it is rarely found in genuine ancient Celtic things), it should be ‘high’, purged of the gross, and fit for the more adult mind of a land long now steeped in poetry. “Do not laugh! But once upon a time (my crest has long since fallen) I had a mind to make a body of more or less connected legend, ranging from the large and cosmogonic, to the level of romantic fairy-story – the larger founded on the lesser in contact with the earth, the lesser drawing splendour from the vast backcloths – which I could dedicate simply to: to England to my country.
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