With a cloudy sky, a bright but broken moonlight, the reflection
    on the sea was infinitely beautiful.

At first, Italy, and especially Rome, felt strange to him, in scenery, sky, contour, and colour.  It was only by degrees that he felt at home there.

He refers to this during his second visit to Rome in a notable remark, which aptly expresses the faculty of apperception—­the link between us and the unfamiliar, which enables mental growth.

June 16th, 1787: 

One remark more!  Now for the first time do the trees, the rocks, nay, Rome itself, grow dear to me; hitherto I have always felt them as foreign, though, on the other hand, I took pleasure in minor subjects having some resemblance to those I saw in youth.

On August 18th, 1787, he wrote: 

Yesterday before sunrise I drove to Acqua Acetosa.  Verily, one might well lose his senses in contemplating the clearness, the manifoldness, the dewy transparency, the heavenly hue of the landscape, especially in the distance.

In October, when he heard of the engagement of a beautiful Milanese lady with whom he had fallen in love: 

I again turned me instantly to Nature, as a subject for landscapes, a field I had been meanwhile neglecting, and endeavoured to copy her in this respect with the utmost fidelity.  I was, however, more successful in mastering her with my eyes....  All the sensual fulness which that region offers us in rocks and trees, in acclivities and declivities, in peaceful lakes and lively streams, all this was grasped by my eye more appreciatively, if possible, than ever before, and I could hardly resent the wound which had to such degree sharpened my inward and outward sense.

On leaving Rome, he wrote: 

Three nights before, the full moon shone in the clearest heaven, and the enchantment shed over the vast town, though often felt before, was never felt so keenly as now.  The great masses of light, clear as in mild daylight, the contrast of deep shades, occasionally relieved by reflexions dimly portraying details, all this transported us as if into another, a simpler and a greater, world.

The later diaries on his travels are sketchy throughout, and more laconic and objective:  for example, at Schaffhausen (Sept. 18th): 

Went out early, 7.30, to see the Falls of the Rhine; colour of water, green—­causes of this, the heights covered by mist—­the depths clear, and we saw the castle of Laufen half in mist; thought of Ossian.  Love mist when moved by deep feeling.

At Brunnen: 

Green of the lake, steep banks, small size of boatman in comparison to the enormous masses of rock.  One saw precipices grown over by trees, summits covered by clouds.  Sunshine over the scene, one felt the formless greatness of Nature.

He was conscious of the great change in himself since his last visit there, and wrote to Schiller (Oct. 14th, 1797):