Even when, as among some Eastern races, Religion and Philosophy have combined to depress Love, truth reasserts itself in popular sayings, as for instance in the Turkish proverb, "All women are perfection, especially she who loves you." A French lady having once quoted to Abd-el-Kader the Polish proverb, "A woman draws more with a hair of her head than a pair of oxen well harnessed;" he answered with a smile, "The hair is unnecessary, woman is powerful as fate." But we like to think of Love rather as the Angel of Happiness than as a ruling force: of the joy of home when "hearts are of each other sure." "It is the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, Which heart to heart, and mind to mind In body and in soul can bind." [12] What Bacon says of a friend is even truer of a wife; there is "no man that imparteth his joys to his friend, but he joyeth the more; and no man that imparteth his griefs to his friend, but he grieveth the less." Let some one we love come near us and "At once it seems that something new or strange Has passed upon the flowers, the trees, the ground; Some slight but unintelligible change On everything around." [13] We might, I think, apply to love what Homer says of Fate: "Her feet are tender, for she sets her steps Not on the ground, but on the heads of men." Love and Reason divide the life of man. We must give to each its due. If it is impossible to attain to virtue by the aid of Reason without Love, neither can we do so by means of Love alone without Reason. Love, said Melanippides, "sowing in the heart of man the sweet harvest of desire, mixes the sweetest and most beautiful things together." No one indeed could complain now, with Phaedrus in Plato's Symposium, that Love has had no worshippers among the Poets. On the contrary, Love has brought them many of their sweetest inspirations; none perhaps nobler or more beautiful than Milton's description of Paradise: "With thee conversing, I forget all time, All seasons, and their change, all please alike. Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams on herb, tree, fruit, and flower Glistering with dew, fragrant the fertile earth After soft showers; and sweet the coming on Of grateful evening mild; then silent night With this her solemn bird and this fair moon, And these the gems of heaven, her starry train: But neither breath of morn when she ascends With charm of earliest birds, nor rising sun On this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flower Glistering with dew, nor fragrance after showers, Nor grateful evening mild, nor silent night With this her solemn bird, nor walk by moon Or glittering starlight, without thee is sweet."