For in so supreme an hour "A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast," and through that opened door come sights and sounds such as cannot be written.
They tell us it is madness, that this unearthly glory is but the frenzy of a passion gross in its very essence.

Let those think it who will, but to dreamers let them leave their dreams.

Why then, at such a time, do visions come to children of the world like Beatrice and Geoffrey?
Why do their doubts vanish, and what is that breath from heaven which they seem to feel upon their brow?
The intoxication of earthly love born of the meeting of youth and beauty.

So be it! Slave, bring more such wine and let us drink--to Immortality and to those dear eyes that mirror forth a spirit's face! Such loves indeed are few.

For they must be real and deep, and natures thus shaped are rare, nor do they often cross each other's line of life.
Yes, there are few who can be borne so high, and none can breathe that ether long.