Winter well as that deeper and perturbing romance 

 Stars, which is disclosed to us in the revelations of 

 science. That sense of incalculable distances, 

 of immeasurable periods, of unknown destinies 

 and amazing arrivals, which haunts the 

 imagination of the astronomer when he looks 

 beyond the frontiers of ascertained knowledge, 

 half-doubting perhaps whether even that be 

 not a terrible illusory logic, is also here. One 

 goes back, as in thought one recedes into 

 the beautiful, impassioned wonderland of 

 childhood. One seems to see mankind itself 

 as a child, gone but a little way even yet, 

 looking up trustfully or fearfully to the 

 mysterious mother-eyes of a Face it cannot 

 rightly discern, in its breath being Immortality, 

 Eternity in its glance, and on its brows 

 Infinitude. 



300 



