Yea, the reflecting ocean itself, reflected in the mirror, has a wondrousness about its waters that somewhat vanishes when I turn towards itself.

All mirrors are magic mirrors.

The commonest room is a room in a poem when I turn to the glass.

(And this reminds me, while I write, of a strange story which I read in the fairy palace, and of which I will try to make a feeble memorial in its place.) In whatever way it may be accounted for, of one thing we may be sure, that this feeling is no cheat; for there is no cheating in nature and the simple unsought feelings of the soul.

There must be a truth involved in it, though we may but in part lay hold of the meaning.