sailors with the rhythm of the ocean-tides in their blood, can hear this undertone of the cosmic harmony, and see this light transfiguring the world, and enter with these true Poets into the mysterious trance; and are thus, even though they know it not, real members of this high confraternity. For the best interpretation of its mysteries in our language, let me refer the reader to Shelley's Defence of Poetry.
Lastly (for this brief essay), there is the Open Secret Society of the Mystics. These are the very flower and crown of the four already touched upon, Saints of Saints, Heroes of Heroes, Philosophers of Philosophers, Poets of Poets; the identity of the masculine ideal of Hero and Philosopher and the feminine ideal of Poet and Saint. Their mysteries have been published to all the world in the choicest visions and actions, thoughts and strophes, of the choicest members of these other fraternities; yet not only do they remain utterly obscure and illegible to the common world of men, they are dark to all of even those fraternities who have not been initiated to the supreme degree.
This Society has been less parodied than any of the others; firstly, because (as I have heard) its mysteries are so awful that whoever long strives to parody them becomes insane; secondly, because its most common and public passwords and signs are incredibly difficult for the vulgar to distinguish. Its members may be unfolding the profoundest secrets in talking of dogs and cats, pans and kettles; they may be transmitting the most pregnant signals in doing the most ordinary daily work. As George Herbert has written (The Elixir):—
On it may stay his eye;
Or if he pleaseth, through it pass,
And then the heaven espy.
....
