otion do we know thee, Nature. To lean upon thy
heart, and feel its pulses vibrate to our own;--that is
knowledge, for that is love, the love of infinite beauty, of
infinite love. Thought will never make us be born again.

'My fault is that I think I feel _too much_. O that my friends
would teach me that "simple art of not too much!" How can I
expect them to bear the ceaseless eloquence of my nature?'

* * * * *

'Often it has seemed that I have come near enough to the
limits to see what they are. But suddenly arises afar the Fata
Morgana, and tells of new Sicilies, of their flowery valleys
and fields of golden grain. Then, as I would draw near, my
little bark is shattered on the rock, and I am left on the
cold wave. Yet with my island in sight I do not sink.'

* * * * *

'I look not fairly to myself, at the present moment. If noble
growths are always slow, others may ripen far worthier fruit
than is permitted to my tropical heats and tornadoes. Let me
clasp the cross on my breast, as I have done a thousand times
before.'

'Let me but gather from the earth one full-grown fragrant flower;
Within my bosom let it bloom through, its one blooming hour;
Within my bosom let it die, and to its latest breath
My own shall answer, "Having lived, I shrink not now from death."
It is this niggard halfness that turns my heart to stone;
'T is the cup seen, not tasted, that makes the infant moan.
For once let me press firm my lips upon the moment's brow,
For once let me distinctly feel I am all happy now,
And bliss shall seal a blessing upon that moment's brow.'

'I was in a state of celestial happiness, which lasted a great
while. For months I was all radiant with faith, and love,
and life. I began to be myself. Night and day were equally
beautiful, and the lowest and highest equally holy. Before, it
had seemed as if the Divine only gleamed upon me; but then it
poured into and through me a tide of light. I have passed down
from the rosy mountain, now; but I do not forget its pure air,
nor how the storms looked as they rolled beneath my feet. I
have received my assurance, and if the shadows should lie upon
me for a century, they could never make me forgetful of the
true hour. Patiently I bide my time.'