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deeply.
It looks like the birth of a soul.
But I loved thee, fair, rich earth,—and all that is gone forever.
This that comes now, we know in much farther stages.
Yet there is silver sweet in the tone, generous nobility in the impulses.
Poor Tasso in the play offered his love and service too officiously to all. They all rejected it, and declared him mad, because he made statements too emphatic of his feelings.
If I wanted only ideal figures to think about, there are those in literature I like better than any of your living ones.
But I want far more.
I want habitual intercourse, cheer, inspiration, tenderness.
I want these for myself; I want to impart them.
I have done as Timon did, for these last eight years. My early intercourses were more equal, because more natural.
Since I took on me the vows of renunciation, I have acted like a prodigal.
Like Timon, I have loved to give, perhaps not from beneficence, but from restless love.
Now, like Fortunatus, I find my mistresses will not thank me for fires made of cinnamon; rather they run from too rich an odor.
What shall I do?
not curse, like him, (oh base!) nor dig my grave in the marge of the salt tide.
Give an answer to my questions, daemon!
Give a rock for my feet, a bird of peaceful and sufficient song within my breast!
I return to thee, my Father, from the husks that have been offered me. But I return as one who meant not to leave Thee.
Of course, she made large demands on her companions, and would soon come to sound their knowledge, and guess pretty nearly the range of their thoughts.
There yet remained to command her constancy, what she valued
