There are joys which long to be ours. God sends ten thousands truths which come about us like birds seeking inlet but we are shut up to them and so they bring us nothing but sit and sing awhile upon the roof and then fly away.
Each one of us is an outlet to God and an inlet to God.
Man has no Body distinct from his Soul for that called Body is a portion of Soul discerned by the five Senses the chief inlets of Soul in this age.
And how can poetry stand up against its new conditions? Its position is perfectly precarious.