I REMEMBER my childhood when the sunrise, like my play-fellow, would burst in to my bedside with its daily surprise of morning; when the faith in the marvellous bloomed like fresh flowers in my heart every day, looking into the face of the world in simple gladness; when insects, birds and beasts, the common weeds, grass and the clouds had their fullest value of wonder; when the patter of rain at night brought dreams from the fairyland, and mother's voice in the evening gave meaning to the stars And then I think of death, and the rise of the curtain and the new morning and my life awakened in its fresh surprise of love.
I WAS MUSING last night on my spendthrift days, when I thought you spoke to me- In youth's careless career you kept all the doors open in your house. The world went in and out as it pleased-the world with its dust, doubts, and disorder-and with its music. With the wild crowd I came to you again and again unknown and unbidden. Had you kept shut your doors in wise seclusion how could I have found my way into your house?'
