and fill it with beauty.  This is real life, and all else is
illusion, or mere endurance.  Does this reverie of flowers and
waterfall and song form an ideal, a human ideal, in the mind? It
does; much the same ideal that Phidias sculptured of man and woman
filled with a godlike sense of the violet fields of Greece,
beautiful beyond thought, calm as my turtle-dove before the lurid
lightning of the unknown.  To be beautiful and to be calm, without
mental fear, is the ideal of nature.  If I cannot achieve it, at
least I can think it. 

End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Pageant of Summer, by Jefferies