To him, they were not mere poetic creations; he believed to the last
that he was guided and guarded by his demon. What if we all are?
What if even now, in this midnight darkness, stands a beautiful
being, veiled by my ignorance, who loves me, from a world of light;
sees the tangled web of my thoughts, and would draw it out into
form, and order, and beauty? If such there be, oh, bright and
beautiful one! pity me, love me, and enlighten me. Alas, no!--all is
yet dark. What would a being revelling in light and beauty, have to
do with this poor, faded life of mine? Alas! that was a fleeting
hope, that, like a pale, flickering ray, gilded the darkness for a
moment.
But, here is a something which gives somewhat of joy and life to the
mind. It is a beautiful thought of Plato, that there is a great
central sun in the universe, around which all other suns revolve.
What if this be an inner sun, which is the fountain of spiritual
life? That is something to believe. Yet the thought sinks appalled
from it. The heart desires a God that it may love, and trust in,
that it may speak to and be heard; and if the fountain of life be
only a sun, what is there to love in it? True, we rejoice in the
light and beauty of the sun that upholds _this_ world in its place;
but what is this enjoyment compared to the bliss of human love? A
man--a living, breathing, loving man--is the perfection of
existence; and one could be happy with a perfect man, if all the
suns in the universe were blotted out.
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