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writing. Now, suddenly, her heart felt an impulse; a new-born instinct, that bade it commune with itself, bade it disentangle its web of golden fancies — made her wish to look upon her inmost self as in a glass. Upsprung from the embrace of Love and Soul — the Eros and the Psyche — their beautiful offspring, Genius! She blushed, she sighed, she trembled as she wrote. And from the fresh World that she had built for herself, she was awakened to prepare for the glittering stage. How dull became the music, how dim the scene, so exquisite and so bright of old. Stage, thou art the Fairy Land to the vision of the worldly. Fancy, whose music is not heard by men, whose scenes shift not by mortal hand, as the Stage to the present world, art thou to the Future and the Past!