sensuousness is all; this subtile essence is that
elixir of life which makes man immortal. He
who tastes it and who will not drink unless it
is in the cup finds life enlarge and the world
grow great before his eager eyes. He recognises
the soul within the woman he loves, and
passion becomes peace; he sees within his
thought the finer qualities of spiritual truth,
which is beyond the action of our mental machinery,
and then instead of entering on the
treadmill of intellectualisms he rests on the
broad back of the eagle of intuition and soars
into the fine air where the great poets found
their insight; he sees within his own power of
sensation, of pleasure in fresh air and sunshine,
in food and wine, in motion and rest, the possibilities
of the subtile man, the thing which
dies not either with the body or the brain. The
pleasures of art, of music, of light and loveliness,--within
these forms, which men repeat
till they find only the forms, he sees the glory
of the Gates of Gold, and passes through to
find the new life beyond which intoxicates and
strengthens, as the keen mountain air intoxicates
and strengthens, by its very vigor. But
if he has been pouring, drop by drop, more
and more of the elixir of life into his cup, he
is strong enough to breathe this intense air and
to live upon it. Then if he die or if he live in
physical form, alike he goes on and finds new