"IMAGINARY" LOVE
My love
Is as the very centre of the earth
Drawing all things to it.
—Troilus and Cressida.
There is perhaps no emotion more elevating or
more deceptive than that sudden uplifting of the
heart and yearning of the senses which may be
called "imaginary" Love. It resembles the stirring
of the sap in the roots of flowers, thrilling the
very ground with hints and promises of spring,—it
is the unspeakable outcoming of human emotion
and sympathy too great to be contained within
itself,—the tremulous desire,—half vague and
wholly innocent,—of the human soul for its mate.
The lower grades of passion have not as yet ruffled
the quivering white wings of this divinely sweet
emotion, and the being who is happy enough to
experience it in all its intensity, is, for the time,
the most enviable on earth. Youth or maiden,
whichever it be, the world is a fairyland for this chosen
dreamer. Nothing appears base or mean,—God's
smile is reflected in every ray of sunshine, and
Nature offers no prospect that is not pleasing.
It is the season of glamour and grammarye,—a
look over the distant hills is sufficient to engage
