Tomorrow let us do or die!

What though my winged hours of bliss have been, Like angel visits, few and far between.

The being level speaks the language of art, music, color shape and pattern directly -- a language that requires no words -- is not limited by words -- nor does it have the specificity of words and thus cannot be broken onto parts that can be manipulated or analyzed by the intellect. It must be swallowed, whole not parsed, sorted and justified.

O star-eyed Science, hast thou wander'd there, To waft us home the message of despair?

I'll meet the raging of the skies, but not an angry father.

Oh, how hard it is to find The one just suited to our mind!

He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe.