“And yet,” she continued, “there is something common to all great poets, to all true artists, to all the world’s heroes, be they Persian or Hindoo, heathen or Christian, Roman or German; it is—­I hardly know what to call it—­it is the Infinite which seems to lie behind them, a far away glance into the Eternal, an apotheosis of the most trifling and transitory things.  Goethe, the grand heathen, knew the sweet peace which comes from Heaven; and when he sings: 

    “On every mountain-height
      Is rest. 
    O’er each summit white
      Thou feelest
    Scarcely a breath. 
  The bird songs are still from each bough;
  Only wait, soon shalt thou
    Rest too, in death.

“does not an endless distance, a repose which earth cannot give, disclose itself to him above the fir-clad summits?  This background is never wanting with Wordsworth.  Let the carpers say what they will, it is nevertheless only the super-earthly, be it ever so obscure, which charms and quiets the human heart.  Who has better understood this earthly beauty than Michel Angelo?—­but he understood it, because it was to him a reflection of superearthly beauty.  You know his sonnet: 

["La forza d’un bel volto al ciel mi sprona (Ch’altro in terra non e che mi diletti), E vivo ascendo tra gli spirti eletti; Grazia ch’ad uom mortal raro si dona.  Si ben col suo Fattor l’opra consuona, Ch’a lui mi levo per divin concetti; E quivi informo i pensier tutti e i detti; Ardendo, amando per gentil persona.  Onde, se mai da due begli occhi il guardo Torcer non so, conosco in lor la luce Che mi mostra la via, ch’a Dio mi guide; E se nel lume loro acceso io ardo, Nel nobil foco mio dolce riluce La gioja che nel cielo eterna ride.”]

  “The might of one fair face sublimes my love,
  For it hath weaned my heart from low desires;
  Nor death I heed nor purgatorial fires. 
  Thy beauty, antepast of joys above
  Instructs me in the bliss that saints approve;
  For, Oh! how good, how beautiful must be
  The God that made so good a thing as thee,
  So fair an image of the Heavenly Dove. 
  Forgive me if I cannot turn away
  From those sweet eyes that are my earthly heaven,
  For they are guiding stars, benignly given
  To tempt my footsteps to the upward way;
  And if I dwell too fondly in thy sight,
  I live and love in God’s peculiar light.”

She was exhausted and silent, and how could I disturb that silence?  When human hearts, after friendly interchange of thoughts feel calmed and quieted, it is as if an angel had flown through the room and we heard the gentle flutter of wings over our heads.  As my gaze rested upon her, her lovely form seemed illuminated in the twilight of the summer evening, and her hand, which I held in mine, alone gave me the consciousness of her real presence.  Then suddenly a bright refulgence spread over her countenance.