No lyre in any human hand will ever make those divine chords audible.

The poets hear them, know them, live by them; but no verse contains them.

So much a part of that wondrous night were we that any speech would have seemed like a severance of things that were one; all the deep meaning of the hour was clear to us because we were included in it.

How long we sat in that silence I do not know; we had forgotten the world out of which we had escaped, and the route by which we came; we knew only that an infinite sea of beauty and wonder rippled on the beach at our feet, and that over us the heavens were as a delicate veil, beyond which diviner loveliness seemed waiting on the verge of birth.
It was Rosalind who spoke at last, and spoke in words which flashed the human truth of the hour into our thoughts.

On this island we had found ourselves; so often lost, at times so long forgotten, in the busy world that lay afar off.