“You gathered wealth in great heaps, and your precious stones in storehouses.  You laid your hand upon the diamond of the river and upon the pearl of the sea, and they abode with you, as the light of the sun and the moon.  And you said, ’Behold it is my star, which is the lord of the dog-heat in summer, and it is my kismet.’  You also took to yourself wives of rare qualities, having both golden and raven black hair, whose skin was as fine silk, and their breath as the freshness of the dawning, and their eyes as jewels.  Then said you, rejoicing in your heart, that you were happy; and so you dwelt in peace and plenty, and waxed glad.

“Therefore you accomplished your first destiny, and you drank of the cup that was filled to overflowing.  And if it had been the law of nature that from pleasure man should derive permanent lasting peace, you had been happy so long as you lived.  But, though you have the faultless life of the body to enjoy all things of the earth, even as other men, though in another degree, you have within you something more.  There is in your breast a heart beating—­an organ so wonderful in its sensitiveness, so perfect in its consciousness of good, that the least throb and thrill of pleasure that it feels is worth years and ages of mere sensual life enjoyment.  The body having tasted of all happiness whereof it is capable, and having found that it is good, is saturated with its own ease and enjoys less keenly.  But the heart is the border-land between body and soul.  The heart can love and the body can love, but the body can only love itself; the heart is the wellspring of the lore that goes beyond self.  Therefore your heart awoke.

“Shall I tell you of the first early stirrings of your love?  Think you, because I am gray and loveless, that I have never known youth and gladness of heart?  Ah, I know, better than you can think.  It is not sudden, really, the blossoming out of the tree of life.  The small leaves grow larger and stronger though still closely folded in the bud, until the bright warmth of the spring makes them burst into bloom.  The little lark in the nest among the grass grows beneath the mother’s wing and idly moves, now and then, unconscious of the cloud-cleaving gift of flight, until all at once, in the fair dawning, there wells up in his tiny breast the mighty sense of power to rise.

“The human heart is like the budded folded leaves, and like the untaught lark.  The quiet sleep before the day of blooming is, while it lasts, a state of happiness.  But it is not comparable with the breathing joy of the leaf that feels and sees the wonderful life around it, whispering divine answers to the wooing breeze.  The humble nest where it has first seen light is for many days a happy home to the tender songster, soon left behind, when the first wing-strokes waft the small body upwards to the sky, and forgotten as the first glad trill and quaver of the new-found voice roll out the prelude to the glorious life-long hymn of praise.  The heart of man—­your heart, my dear friend—­gave a great leap from earth to sky, when first it felt the magic of the other life.  The grosser scales of material vision fell away from your inner sight on the day when you met, and knew you had met, the woman you were to love.