"It seems to me that I have gazed at your beauty from the beginning of my existence, that I have kept you in my arms for countless ages, yet it has not been enough for me."
He says, "Stones would melt in tenderness, if touched by the breeze of your mantle."
He feels that his "eyes long to fly like birds to see his beloved."
Judged from the standpoint of reason these are exaggerations, but from that of the heart, freed from limits of facts, they are true.
Is it not the same in God's creation? There, forces and matters are alike mere facts they have their strict accounts kept and they can be accurately weighed and measured. Only beauty is not a mere fact; it cannot be accounted for, it cannot be surveyed and mapped. It is an expression. Facts are like wine-cups that carry it, they are hidden by it, it overflows them. It is infinite in its suggestions, it is extravagant in its words. It is personal, therefore, beyond science. It sings as does the poet, "It seems to me that I have gazed at you from the beginning of my existence, that I have kept you in my arms for countless ages, yet it has not been enough for me."
So we find that our world of expression does
