No thought can capture that beauty. It is too small and too great. It is alone, spaceless, permeating all, con- tained by nothing. It has no walls or borders--being free, being freedom, being beauty without a trace. It is not there nor here: It is what gives them presence. It shows still mind the loveliness of life, of d**h, of rain and storm and reckless wind. It is alone without a yesterday or future looking on. No hope nor fear shall dwell within it. It is not greater than life. It is life unnamed: a child who knows no words, who stands alone amidst creation. The eyes can see it when the mind is empty. The hand can feel it when it knows not what it touches. When the last picture and the final word fades from the cluttered, noisome mind, then shall aloneness dwell--the beauty of a mind without incumbrances, the song of love which knows no sound.