Nor do we merely feel these essences for one short hour no, even as these trees that whisper round a temple become soon dear as the temples self, so does the moon, the passion posey, glories infinite, Haunt us till they become a cheering light unto our souls and bound to us so fast, that wheather there be shine, or gloom o'er cast, They always must be with us, or we die.
Lifting her head, she joined in as the others in the group began to howl in response to Brace's triumph. The sound was. . . It touched the soul, the music haunting, starkly pure and yet so very earthy.