And it saw what human imagination could not fashion.

Behold those gardens, those groves that hang upon the measureless mountain face, and the white flowers which droop in tresses from the dark bough of yonder towering poplar tree, and the jewelled serpent nestling at its root.
Oh! they are gone, and when the flame-eyed Figure smote, the vast, barring, precipices fall apart and the road is smooth and open.
How far?
A million miles?
No, twenty thousand millions.

Look, yonder shines the destined Star; now come! So, it is reached.

Nay, do not stop to stare.

Look again! out through utter space to where the low light glows.