THOUGHTS FROM WRITINGS 



—a stream that ran through Rome 

 once, but has altered its course and 

 wears away the banks here now and 

 triturates its own atoms, the hearts, to 

 dust in the process. Yellow omnibuses 

 and red cabs, dark shining carriages, 

 chestnut horses, all rushing, and by 

 their motion mixing their colours so 

 that the commonness of it disappears 

 and the hues remain, a streak drawn 

 in the groove of the street— dashed 

 hastily with thick camel's hair. In the 

 midst the calm lions, dusky, unmoved, 

 full always of the one grand idea that 

 was infused into them. So full of it 

 that the golden sun and the bright 

 wall of the eastern houses, the shade 

 that is slipping towards them, the sweet 

 swallows and the azure sky, all the 

 human stream holds of wealth and 

 power and coroneted panels — nature, 

 man, and city— pass as naught. Mind 

 is stronger than matter. The soul alone 



120 



