And the memory of his love? Love is transient, but frozen lips and
closed eyes can speak with a power unknown to the living, and the power
abides to a longer day than the living voice had controlled. And so the
night of his mourning was long, but the longest night has a dawn, and it
seems to me that the saddest thing I can say in ending my tale is that
the morning dawned and grief was forgotten. It is sad that we forget
joys; it is sadder to forget sorrows.
And so this story of religion that called itself heavenly, and love that
was most mortal, is over. Atma had had of earth's most beautiful things, "O Love, Religion, Music--all
That's left of Eden upon earth,"-but no--Love and Religion are not left.