But the majestic river floated on, Out of the mist and hum of that low land, Into the frosty starlight.
I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me; and to me, High mountains are a feeling, but the hum Of human cities torture.
Now air is hushed, save where the weak-eyed bat With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, Or where the beetle winds His small but sullen horn, As oft he rises midst the twilight path, Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum.
I can hum a fugue of which I've heard the music's din afore, And whistle all the airs from that infernal nonsense Pinafore.
The force that propels the human spirit on the clear way forward and upward is the abstract spirit.
Webster's New World Dictionary of Quotations Copyright © 2010 by Chambers Harrap Publishers Ltd. All rights reserved. Published by Wiley, Hoboken, NJ. Used by arrangement with John Wiley & Sons, Inc.
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