iousness."

"But whence first into thy dark self?" rejoins Hope.

"My brain was its mother, and the fever in my blood its father."

"Say rather," suggests Hope, "thy brain was the violin whence it issued,
and the fever in thy blood the bow that drew it forth.--But who made
the violin? and who guided the bow across its strings? Say rather,
again--who set the song birds each on its bough in the tree of life, and
startled each in its order from its perch? Whence came the fantasia? and
whence the life that danced thereto? Didst THOU say, in the dark of thy
own unconscious self, 'Let beauty be; let truth seem!' and straightway
beauty was, and truth but seemed?"

Man dreams and desires; God broods and wills and quickens.

When a man dreams his own dream, he is the sport of his dream; when
Another gives it him, that Other is able to fulfil it.

I have never again sought the mirror. The hand sent me back: I will not
go out again by that door! "All the days of my appointed time will I
wait till my change come."

Now and then, when I look round on my books, they seem to waver as if
a wind rippled their solid mass, and another world were about to break
through. Sometimes when I am abroad, a like thing takes place; the
heavens and the earth, the trees and the grass appear for a moment to
shake as if about to pass away; then, lo, they have settled again into
the old familiar face! At times I seem to hear whisperings around me, as
if some that loved me were talking of me; but when I would distinguish
the words, they cease, and all is very still. I know not whether these
things rise in my brain, or enter it from without. I do not seek them;
they come, and I let them go.

Strange dim memories, which will not abide identification, often,
through misty windows of the past, look out upon me in the broad
daylight, but I never dream now. It may be, notwithstanding, that, when
most awake, I am only dreaming the more! But when I wake at last into
that life which, as a mother her child, carries this life in its bosom,
I shall know that I wake, and shall doubt no more.

I wait; asleep or awake, I wait.

Novalis says, "Our life is no dream, but it should and will perhaps
become one."

*Chapter 42: William Law.

**Chapter 45: Tin tin sonando con si dolce nota
Che 'l ben disposto spirito d' amor turge.
DEL PARADISO, x. 142.

***Chapter 46: Oma' vedrai d