As a self of purer clay,—
Though her parting dim the day
Stealing grace from all alive,—
Heartily know,
When half-gods go
The Gods arrive!”
The dear little psyche is going? Well, let her go! Regret her a little—that is sweet and good. Feel lonesome for her awhile. Wait. Then make yourself a new soul, large enough to wrap round the whole world, like the Æther.
Faithfully ever,
Lafcadio Hearn.