is
necessary. He cannot approach too closely; for that moment love is
changed into disgust and hate. He would drink the nectar to the lees.
This is one of Nature's limitations, and has many analogies; and he
who would never see the bottom of any cup, and always be possessed
with a divine hunger, must observe them. I remember how it piqued my
childish curiosity that the moon seemed always to retreat when I ran
towards her, and to pursue when I fled. It was a very significant
symbol. Stand a little apart, and things of their own accord will come
more than half-way. Nobody ever goes to meet a loafer. Self-centred,
domesticated persons attract. What would be the value of the heavens,
if we could bring the stars into our lap? They cannot be approached or
appropriated. Upon the highest mountain the horizon sinks you in a
valley, and far aloft in night and mystery gleam the retreating stars.

It must be remembered that indirect vision is much more delicate than
direct. Looking askance, with a certain oblique and upward glance,
constitutes the art and power of the poet; for so a gentle invitation
is offered the imagination to contribute its aid. We see clearest when
the eye is elongated and slightly curtained. Persons with round,
protuberant eyes are obliged to reduce their superfluous visual power
by artificial means. We subordinate the external organ in order to
liberate the inner eye of the mind. The musing, pensive Hindoos, who
have elongated eyes, look through the surface of things to their
essence, and call the world Illusion,--the illusory energy of Vishnu.

There is a vulgar trick of wishing to touch everything. But the
greatest caution is necessary, in beholding a statue or painting, not
to draw too near; and it is thus with every other beautiful thing.
Nature secretly writes, _Hands off!_--and men do but translate her
hieroglyph in their galleries and museums. The sense of touch is only
a provision against the loss of sight and hearing. We should cultivate
these, until, like the Scandinavian Heimdal, we can hear the trees and
the flowers grow, and see with Heraclitus the breathing of the stars.

The youth once loved Nature after this somewhat gross and material
fashion, for the berries she gave him, the flowers she wove in his
hair, and the brooks that drove his mimic mills. He chased the
butterfly, he climbed the trees, he would stand in the rain, paint his
cheeks with berry juice, dabble in the mud, and nothing w