25 December 1920
25 December 1920
25 December 1920
Villa Isola Bella, Menton, France
Oh Life! Accept me - make me worthy - teach me.
I write that. I look up. The leaves move in the garden, the sky is pale, and I catch myself weeping. It is hard - it is hard to make a good death . . .
For a long time she said she did not want to change anything in him, and she meant it. Yet she hated things in him, and wished they were otherwise. Then she said she did not want to change anything in him and she meant it. And the dark things that she had hated she now regarded with indifference. Then she said she did not want to change anything in him. But now she loved him so that even the dark things she loved, too. She wished him there; she was not indifferent. Still they were dark and strange, but she loved them. And it was for this they had been waiting. They changed. They shed their darkness - the curse was lifted and they shone forth as Royal Princes once more, as creatures of light.
At the Bay
At last the milk-white harbour catches the glitter and the gulls floating on the trembling water gleam like the shadows within a pearl.
The house-dog comes out of his kennel dragging the heavy chain and the kalop-kalops at the water standing cold in the iron pan. The house cat emerges from nowhere and bounds on to the kitchen window sill waiting for her spill of warm morning milk.
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