Poor fool! that thou must love a woman—­and worship with thy love, building for her an altar in thine heart.  If altar crumble and heart burst, is she to blame who is but woman, or thou, who wouldst have made her all divine?

Well, thou’rt dead—­a small handful of gray dust, long since —­perchance thou hast got thee wisdom ere now—­poor fool—­O Fool Divine!

As thou art now, thy sleepless nights forgot—­the carking sorrows of thy life all overpast, and done—­so must I some time be, and, ages hence, shall smile at this, and reckon it no more than a broken toy—­heigho!

And so I presently turned back to my tumbled bed, but it seemed to me that torment and terror still waited me there; moreover, I was filled with a great desire for action.  This narrow chamber stifled me, while outside was the stir of leaves, the gentle breathing of the wind, the cool murmur of the brook, with night brooding over all, deep and soft and still.

Being now dressed, I stood awhile, deliberating how I might escape without disturbing her who slumbered in the outer room.  So I came to the window, and thrusting my head and shoulders sidewise through the narrow lattice, slowly, and with much ado, wriggled myself out.  Rising from my hands and knees, I stood up and threw wide my arms to the perfumed night, inhaling its sweetness in great, deep breaths, and so turned my steps towards the brook, drawn thither by its rippling melody; for a brook is a companionable thing, at all times, to a lonely man, and very full of wise counsel and friendly admonitions, if he but have ears to hear withal.

Thus, as I walked beside the brook, it spoke to me of many things, grave and gay, delivering itself of observations upon the folly of Humans, comparing us very unfavorably with the godlike dignity of trees, the immutability of mountains, and the profound philosophy of brooks.  Indeed it waged most eloquent upon this theme, caustic, if you will, but with a ripple, between whiles, like the deep-throated chuckle of the wise old philosopher it was.

“Go to!” chuckled the brook.  “Oh, heavy-footed, heavy-sighing Human—­go to!  It is written that Man was given dominion over birds and beasts and fishes, and all things made, yet how doth Man, in all his pride, compare with even a little mountain?  And, as to birds and beasts and fishes, they provide for themselves, day in and day out, while Man doth starve and famish!  To what end is Man born but to work, beget his kind, and die?  O Man! lift up thy dull-sighted eyes—­behold the wonder of the world, and the infinite universe about thee; behold thyself, and see thy many failings and imperfections, and thy stupendous littleness —­go to!  Man was made for the world, and not the world for man!  Man is a leaf in the forest—­a grain of dust borne upon the wind, and, when the wind faileth, dust to dust returneth; out upon thee, with thy puny griefs and sorrows.