I care little in the existence of a heaven or hell; self respect does not allow me to guide my acts with an eye toward heavenly salvation or hellish punishment. I pursue the good in life because it is beautiful and attracts me; and shun the bad because it is ugly and repulsive. All our acts should originate from the spring of unselfish love, whether there be a continuation after death or not.
The great pulsation of nature beats too in my breast, and when I carol aloud, I am answered by a thousand-fold echo. I hear a thousand nightingales. Spring hath sent them to awaken Earth from her morning slumber, and Earth trembles with ecstasy, her flowers are hymns, which she sings in inspiration to the sun.
The spring's already at the gate With looks my care beguiling; The country round appeareth straight A flower-garden smiling.
Lyrical poetry is much the same an every age, as the songs of the nightingales in every spring-time.
The beauteous eyes of the spring's fair night With comfort are downward gazing.
The eyes of spring, so azure, Are peeping from the ground; They are the darling violets, That I in nosegays bound.
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