h its silver rays. And the wind that rustled among the poplar
branches outside my window was, in my dream, stirring the pink petals of
a blossoming apple-tree that used to grow beside the bank of mignonette,
wafting down sweet odours and drinking in sweeter ones. And presently
there stole in upon this harmony of enchanting sounds and delicate
fragrances, in which childhood and womanhood, pleasure and pain, memory
and anticipation, seemed strangely intermingled, the faint music of a
voice, growing clearer and clearer as my ear became familiar with its
cadences. And what the dream voice said to me was something like this:--

'If thou wouldst have happiness, choose neither fame, which doth not
long abide, nor power, which stings the hand that wields it, nor gold,
which glitters but never glorifies; but choose thou Love, and hold
it for ever in thy heart of hearts; for Love is the purest and the
mightiest force in the universe, and once it is thine all other gifts
shall be added unto thee. Love that is passionate yet reverent, tender
yet strong, selfish in desiring all yet generous in giving all; love
of man for woman and woman for man, of parent for child and friend for
friend--when this is born in the soul, the desert blossoms as the rose.
Straightway new hopes and wishes, sweet longings and pure ambitions,
spring into being, like green shoots that lift their tender heads in
sunny places; and if the soil be kind, they grow stronger and more
beautiful as each glad day laughs in the rosy skies. And by and by
singing-birds come and build their nests in the branches; and these
are the pleasures of life. And the birds sing not often, because of
a serpent that lurketh in the garden. And the name of the serpent is
Satiety. He maketh the heart to grow weary of what it once danced and
leaped to think upon, and the ear to wax dull to the melody of sounds
that once were sweet, and the eye blind to the beauty that once led
enchantment captive. And sometimes--we know not why, but we shall know
hereafter, for life is not completely happy since it is not heaven, nor
completely unhappy since it is the road thither--sometimes the light of
the sun is withdrawn for a moment, and that which is fairest vanishes
from the place that was enriched by its presence. Yet the garden is
never quite deserted. Modest flowers, whose charms we had not noted
when youth was bright and the world seemed ours, now lift their heads
in sheltered places and whispe