26. All architecture is what you do to it when you look upon it,

Did you think it was in the white or gray stone? or the lines of the arches and cornices?

27. All music is what awakes from you, when you are reminded by the instruments,

It is not the violins and the cornets—it is not the oboe nor the beating drums, nor the score of the baritone singer singing his sweet romanza—nor that of the men's chorus, nor that of the women's chorus,

It is nearer and farther than they.

28. Will the whole come back then?

Can each see signs of the best by a look in the looking-glass? is there nothing greater or more?

Does all sit there with you, and here with me?

29. The old, forever-new things—you foolish child! the closest, simplest things, this moment with you,

Your person, and every particle that relates to your person,

The pulses of your brain, waiting their chance and encouragement at every deed or sight,

Anything you do in public by day, and anything you do in secret between-days,

What is called right and what is called wrong—what you behold or touch, or what causes your anger or wonder,