Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/24

10 soul. We have picture after picture, almost to satiety, until we grow conscious of a lack of substance and body and of vital play to the thought, as though the brain were spending itself in dreamings and reverie, the heart feeding upon itself, and the life choked by its own fullness without due outlet. Happily, however, the heavy cloud of sadness has lifted, and we feel the subsidence of waves after a storm. She sings &quot;Matins:&quot; —

Nature is the perpetual resource and consolation. &quot; ’T is good to be alive ! &quot; she says, and why? Simply,