Book 1. The Spoiled Child
Book 1. The Spoiled Child - Chapter 1
_ BOOK I. THE SPOILED CHILD
CHAPTER I
Let thy chief terror be of thine own soul:
There, ‘mid the throng of hurrying desires
That trample on the dead to seize their spoil,
Lurks vengeance, footless, irresistible
As exhalations laden with slow death,
And o‘er the fairest troop of captured joys
Breathes pallid pestilence.

Men can do nothing without the make-believe of a beginning. Even science, the strict measurer, is obliged to start with a make-believe unit, and must fix on a point in the stars‘ unceasing journey when his sidereal clock shall pretend that time is at Nought. His less accurate grandmother Poetry has always been understood to start in the middle； but on reflection it appears that her proceeding is not very different from his； since Science, too, reckons backward as well as forward, divides his unit into billions, and with his clock-finger at Nought really sets off

......
全部内容，请购买此书。