I promise you that when I find a human being
with whom I can exchange an idea, whose thoughts have even wandered
half a mile beyond the parish, I shall apprize you of the fact.
Meanwhile, dearest, you must put up with my company, as I myself am
learning to do. It seems to me almost that I need no one else! I
sit here in my room, out there in the woods, and I am content. I
read a great deal; I have just re-read the "Volsunga Saga," and
have begun Tolstoi's "Cossacks." I am trying, too, to continue my
mother's translation of "Prometheus," but the difference between my
work and hers is so great that I sometimes lose heart. However, I
shall try to finish it. Her beautiful face and yours look down at
me from the shelf above my writing-table, amidst a wealth of
flowers; and, as I look up, I can see the sun setting behind the
beech-trees, for I sit beside the window. The sky is full of hope,
the little clouds are glowing with colour, the trees with fulness
of life; a blackbird is singing his heart out in the willow by the
pond. I must needs believe that life is worth living....
I have watched all the pink fade from the sky; the mottled clouds
are grey and sleepy-looking.
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