"The phrase and the day and the scene harmonised in a chord."
What's more important -- the real world, or the words used to describe it? From A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, by James Joyce:
He drew forth a phrase from his treasure and spoke it softly to himself:
--A day of dappled seaborne clouds.
The phrase and the days and the scene harmonised in a chord. Was it their colours? He allowed them to glow and fade, hue after hue: sunrise gold, the russet and green of apple orchards, azure of waves, the greyfringed fleece of clouds. No, it was not their colours: it was the poise and balance of the period itself. Did he then love the rhythmic rise and fall of words better than their associations of legend and colour? Or was it that, being as weak of sight as he was shy of mind, he drew less pleasure from the reflection of the glowing sensible world through the prism of a language manycoloured and richly storied than from the contemplation of an inner world of individual emotion mirrored perfectly in a lucid supple periodic prose?
I suppose a well-turned phrase -- lucid supple periodic prose -- can heighten our appreciation of the marvels of nature and humanity, but to my mind descriptive words are a poor substitute for the actual subject itself.