“Oh, the beautiful things!” cried Rose. “Purple reflections,—deeper purple than the trees. How they wriggle!”
“Put me the two purples on paper.”
“There!” she said, “that is as I see them.”
“And I,” he returned,—“for me they should be a much deeper, purer tint. That is the difference between your color sense and mine.”
“Is it true, Pardy, that there may be colors no man has seen?”
“Yes.”
“And sounds no man has heard?”
“Yes.”
“‘Heard sounds are sweet, but sounds unheard are sweeter.’”
“Your quotation sets one’s imagination free to rove. Think of extending the gamut of human thought. I cannot imagine that; and, as to your poet, he did not mean, I suppose, the sounds man never heard are sweeter; but then one has his freedom of interpreting the words of genius. They always build better than they know.”