Our glories float between the earth and heaven Like clouds which seem pavilions of the sun, And are the playthings of the casual wind. - Edward Bulwer-Lytton

The Wind and the Beam loved the Rose, And the Rose loved one:
For who recks the Wind where it blows? Or loves not the Sun?None knew whence the humble Wind stole, Poor sport of the skies:
None dreamt that the Wind had a soul In its mournful sighs.O happy Beam, how canst thou prove That bright love of thine?
In thy light is the proof of thy love, Thou hast but to shine.How its love can the Wind reveal? Unwelcome its sigh:
Mute, mute to the Rose let it steal— Its proof is—to die!

Light literature,—that grace and flower of human culture, that best philosophy of all, humanizing us with gentle art, making us wise through the humours, elevated through the passions, tender in the affections of our kind.

The heart loves repose and the soul contemplation, but the mind needs action.