The Washington times., 1931-11-30
CHAPTER 43

Of light upon the table. Before
me Is a pile Of blue exercise
books, and alongside a bottle
Of red ink. I look through the
note books, mark the mistakes,
lay the plotting papers inside
and clap them to.
stand up. Is this life,
then? This dreary uniformity
Of days and lessons? But how
empty it leaves all the back
ground! There is still left
much too much time to think.
1 hoped the routine would
quiet me, but it only makes me
more restless. How long the
evenings are here.
60 across to the barn. The
cows snuff and stamp in the
gloom. Beside them on the
low stools squat the milkmaids,
each in a little room to her
self, the walls formed by the
black and white bodies of the
animals. Small lanterns are
Pickering over them in the
warm air of the stall, the milk
spurts in thin streams into the
bucket. The girls lift their
heads and smile and breathe
and show sound, white teeth.
Their eyes shine in the dark
ness and there is a smell OF
cattle and hay.
I stand while at the door,
then go back to my room. The
blue notebooks still lie under
the lamp. Will they always
lie so? And I? Shall I al
ways sit there, till little by
little I grow old and at last
die? I decide to go to bed.
The red moon climbs slowly
up over the roof Of the barn
and casts an image Of the win.
dow on the floor, a diamond
and a cross within it, that
become gradually more and more
askew the higher the moon
rises. In an hour it has crept
onto my bed and the Swallowed
cross is moving over my
chest.
Half Asleep
I lie in the big, peasant bed,
with its cover Of red and blue
squares, and cannot sleep.
Sometimes my eyes close and I
sink down whizzing through
space without bounds-but at
the last moment a sudden,
bounding fear jolts me back
into wakefulness, and again l
am listening to the church
clock as it strikes the hours. l
listen and wait and toss TO and
fro.
At last I get up and dress
again. I climb through the
window, lift out the dog and 80
off to the moor. The moon IS
shining, the wind blows gently
and the plain stretches away.
The railway embankment cuts
darkly across it.
I sit down under juniper
bush. After a time I see the
chain of signal lamps light up
along the track. The night
train is coming. The rails begin
to rumble softly. metallic. The
headlight of one locomotive
leaps up over the sky line, driv-
ing a billow of light before it
toward me. The train rOarS
past with bright windows; for
one moment scarce a breath,
the compartments with their
trunks and their fates are right
close to me; they sweep on
ward; the rails CLEAN again
with wet light. and out of the
distance now stares only the
red lamp Of the train, like a
glowing evil eye.
I watch the moon turn clear,
then yellow. walk through
the blue twilight of the birch
woods; raindrops spill down
from the branches onto my
neck! I stumble over roots and
on stones and when return
the leaden dawn has come. The
lamp is still! burning-DeSper
ately glance round the room
no, I cannot stick this! I
should need to be 20 years older
to be so resigned.
Too Much Trouble
Weary and spent, begin to
01nSracc IF iS f0O Y,oI1nh trouble
AS I go off to sleep. my hands
are still pressed together. I will
not give up-I will not give up
yet
Then again I sink down
through space without bounds
and cautiously worm my way
out. Slowly, one inch, and
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