Descend, great Radiance! embrace creation with beneficent fire, and pass from us! You and the vice-regal light that succeeds to you, and all heavenly pageants, are the ministers and the slaves of the throbbing content within.
For this is the home of the enchantment.

Here, secluded from vexed shores, the prince and princess of the island meet: here like darkling nightingales they sit, and into eyes and ears and hands pour endless ever-fresh treasures of their souls.
Roll on, grinding wheels of the world: cries of ships going down in a calm, groans of a System which will not know its rightful hour of exultation, complain to the universe.

You are not heard here.
He calls her by her name, Lucy: and she, blushing at her great boldness, has called him by his, Richard.

Those two names are the key-notes of the wonderful harmonies the angels sing aloft.
"Lucy! my beloved!" "O Richard!" Out in the world there, on the skirts of the woodland, a sheep-boy pipes to meditative eve on a penny-whistle.
Love's musical instrument is as old, and as poor: it has but two stops; and yet, you see, the cunning musician does thus much with it! Other speech they have little; light foam playing upon waves of feeling, and of feeling compact, that bursts only when the sweeping volume is too wild, and is no more than their sigh of tenderness spoken.
Perhaps love played his tune so well because their natures had unblunted edges, and were keen for bliss, confiding in it as natural food.

To gentlemen and ladies he fine-draws upon the viol, ravishingly; or blows into the mellow bassoon; or rouses the heroic ardours of the trumpet; or, it may be, commands the whole Orchestra for them.