The Past -- the dark unfathomed retrospect! The teeming gulf --the sleepers and the shadows! The past! the infinite greatness of the past! For what is the present after all but a growth out of the past?

What is commonest and cheapest and nearest and easiest is Me, Me going in for my chances, spending for vast returns, Adorning myself to bestow myself on the first that will take me, Not asking the sky to come down to my goodwill, Scattering if freely forever.

Oh, to be alive in such an age, when miracles are everywhere, and every inch of common air throbs a tremendous prophecy, of greater marvels yet to be.

I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person.

I exist as I am, that is enough, If no other in the world be aware, I sit content, And if each and all be aware, I sit content.

Give me the splendid, silent sun with all his beams full-dazzling.

And as to me, I know nothing else but miracles