Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend.

The smoking flax before it burst to flame Was quenched by death, and broken the bruised reed.

I love thee, as the good love heaven.

All sense of hearing and of sight enfold in the serene delight and quietude of sleep.

Our hearts are lamps for ever burning.

Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon Like a magician extended his golden want o'er the landscape; Trinkling vapors arose; and sky and water and forest Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together.

All the means of action -- the shapeless masses -- the materials -- lie everywhere about us. What we need is the celestial fire to change the flint into the transparent crystal, bright and clear. That fire is genius.