Beauty being the best of all we know sums up the unsearchable and secret aims of nature.
I love all beauteous things,
I seek and adore them
Unto us all our days are love's anniversaries, each one In turn hath ripened something of our happiness.
Our stability is but balance, and conduct lies In masterful administration of the unforseen.
The name of happiness is but a wider termfor the unalloy'd conditions of the Pleasur of Life,attendant on all function, and not to be deny'dto th' soul, unless forsooth in our thought of naturespiritual is by definition unnatural.
Nature hav no music; nor would ther be for theeany better melody in the April woods at dawnthan what an old stone-deaf labourer, lying awakeo'night in his comfortless attic, might perchancebe aware of, when the rats run amok in his thatch?
Whither, O splendid ship, thy white sails crowding,Leaning across the bosom of the urgent West,That fearest nor sea rising, nor sky clouding,Whither away, fair rover, and what thy quest?
To-morrow it seemLike the empty words of a dreamRemembered on waking.
Beauty is the highest of all these occult influences, the quality of appearances that thru' the sense wakeneth spiritual emotion in the mind of man.
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