Our Dreams Drench Us In Senses, And

Cities With All Their Advantages Have Something Hostile To Liberal Learning, The Seductions Are So Subtle And Accost The Senses So Openly On All Sides.

All Unrest Is But The Struggle Of The Soul To Reassure Herself Of Her Inborn Immortality.

The Fable Runs That The Gods Mix Our Pains And Pleasure In One Cup, And Thus Mingle For Us The Adulterate Immortality Which We Alone Are Permitted Here To Enjoy. Voluptuous Raptures, Could We Prolong These At Pleasure, Would Dissipate And Dissolve Us. A Sip Is The Most That Mortals Are Permitted From Any Goblet Of Delight.

Nor Is A Day Lived If The Dawn Is Left Out Of It, With The Prospects It Opens. Who Speaks Charmingly Of Nature Or Of Mankind, Like Him Who Comes Bibulous Of Sunrise And The Fountains Of Waters?

Inspiration Must Find Answering Inspiration.