When on it grows this glorious antidote?
Zay. And may we never love as mortals love?
Sel. No; that can never be. Of earthly things
This love of theirs ranks as the earthiest.
’Tis necessary to man’s mode of life;
He could not bear his load of misery
But for the sweet enchantment at his heart
That tells him that he bears no load at all.
We do not need it in our perfect land.
Moreover, there’s this gulf ’twixt it and us: