But most they wondered at the charm she gave To common things, that seemed as from the grave Of mouldering custom suddenly to rise To fresh and fairer life; a life so new, And yet so real—to the heart so true— They gazed upon the world as if a thousand ties, Till now to all unknown, between them daily grew. The life was hers—from that mysterious cell Whence sends the soul her self-diffusing spell, Whose once embodied breath for ever is: Though ruthless Time, with whom no creature strives, At every step treads out a thousand lives, Yet brings his wasting march no doom to this— Like heritage with air, that aye for all survives
Washington Allston (1779-1843)