Who in Arcturus hath heard of us?
They know us not in the Milky Way.

We prate of faculties divine: and know not how sprouteth a spear of grass; we go about shrugging our shoulders: when the firmament-arch is over us; we rant of etherealities: and long tarry over our banquets; we demand Eternity for a lifetime: when our mortal half-hours too often prove tedious.

We know not of what we talk.

The Bird of Paradise out-flies our flutterings.

What it is to be immortal, has not yet entered into our thoughts.