Nature is a haunted house--but Art--is a house that tries to be haunted.
Where thou art, that is home.
Somewhere in my soul a thought went up in my mind today that I have had before, but did not finish, some way back, I could not fix the year. Nor where it went, nor why it came the second time to me, nor definetly what it was, have I the art to say. But somewhere in my soul, I know I've met the thing before; it just reminded me-' twas all'-and came my way no more.
Nature is what we know - Yet have not art to say - So impotent our wisdom is To her simplicity.
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