The breaking dawn, his brilliant beams shooting above the hill, how wonderful. What a blessing to the eye. What wonderful treasures are writ large in nature; What impoverished creatures we who cannot count it. What a fool is man whose eyes are torn from this true beauty in vainglorious pursuits.
Compare with the rising sun neon lights. Can all the fragrances of France do more than imitate this grassy smell of dew rising from the earth? So what are dreams if not our eyes? And if we dream, what shall we choose to find? I look to the rising sun.
Tale Told 