(transcription from Emerson’s “Experience”)
Dream delivers us to dream, and there is no end
to illusion. Life is a train of moods
like a string of beads, and, as we pass among them,
we discover them as many-colored lenses
which paint the world according to their hue,
and each one shows only what lies in its focus.
From the mountain you can only see the mountain.
We animate what we can animate,
and what we animate is all that we can see.
Nature and books belong to the eyes that see them,
and it depends on the mood of the man
whether he sees the sunset or the finest poem.
There are sunsets, genius, and a few serene hours
for their enjoyment. And temperament
is the iron wire on which the beads have been strung.
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