OF RICHARD JEFFERIES 



is still possible. For my thought is like 

 a hyperbola that continually widens 

 ascending. — ' The Story of my Heart.' 



A RIVER runs itself clear dur- 

 ing the night, and in sleep 

 thought becomes pellucid. All 

 the hurrying to and fro, the unrest 

 and stress, the agitation and confusion 

 subside. Like a sweet pure spring, 

 thought pours forth to meet the light, 

 and is illumined to its depths. The 

 dawn at my window ever causes a desire 

 for larger thought, the recognition of the 

 light at the moment of waking kindles 

 afresh the wish for a broad day of the 

 mind. There is a certainty that there 

 are yet ideas further, and greater — that 

 there is still a limitless beyond. I know 

 at that moment that there is no limit to 

 the things that may be yet in material 

 and tangible shape besides the im- 

 material perceptions of the soul. The 



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