Equally paradoxical is the power of print to install the 
reader in a subjective universe of limitless freedom and 
spontaneity:

          My mind to me a Kingdom is; 
          Such perfect joy therein I find 
          That it excels all other bliss
          Which God or Nature hath assigned.

But by the same token print induces the reader to order his 
external life and actions with visual propriety and rigor, until 
the appearance of virtue and stability usurp all inner motive 
and

          Shades of the prison-house begin to close 
          Upon the growing Boy.