Philosophical Theories Or Ideas, As

A Very Intimate Sense Of The Expressiveness Of Outward Things, Which Ponders, Listens, Penetrates, Where The Earlier, Less Developed Consciousness Passed Lightly By, Is An Important Element In The General Temper Of Our Modern Poetry.

Every Moment Some Form Grows Perfect In Hand Or Face; Some Tone On The Hills Or The Sea Is Choicer Than The Rest; Some Mood Of Passion Or Insight Or Intellectual Excitement Is Irresistibly Real And Attractive For Us - For That Moment Only.

Experience, Already Reduced To A Group Of Impressions, Is Ringed Round For Each One Of Us By That Thick Wall Of Personality Through Which No Real Voice Has Ever Pierced On Its Way To Us, Or From Us To That Which We Can Only Conjecture To Be Without.

Through The Survival Of Their Children, Happy Parents Are Able To Think Calmly, And With A Very Practical Affection, Of A World In Which They Are To Have No Direct Share.

Not The Fruit Of Experience, But Experience Itself, Is The End.