THE SOUL OF THE CELL





This crystal of Quartz,--the queen of its tribe,

Amethyst, Onyx, Chalcedony, Heliotrope, Agate,--

Some toiler of old Japan, the Artist fantastic,

Has polished to likeness of ice,

Ruining form to reveal it Fleche d'Amour

That the marvelous, delicate, hairlike inclosures

Of crystallizations foreign might please the beholder

Herein worked the Infinite well,

And, let us say, too, the artisan patient,

To one limit--significant boundary!





The softest thing in the world dashes against and overcomes The sun is bright by day, the moon shines by facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedinmail

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