the story of my heart-第8节

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I　was　watched　contemptuously；
though　no　one　had　the　least　idea　of　my　object。　But　I　went
every　morning；　and　was　satisfied　if　I　could　get　two　or　three　minutes　to
think　unchecked。　Often　I　saw　the　sun　rise　over　the　line　of　the　hills；　but　if
it　was　summer　the　sun　had　been　up　a　long　time。

I　looked　at　the　hills；　at　the　dewy　grass；　and　then　up　through
the　elm　branches　to　the　sky。　In　a　moment　all　that　was　behind
me；　the　house；　the　people；　the　sounds；　seemed　to　disappear；　and　to　leave　me
alone。　Involuntarily　I　drew　a　long　breath；　then　I
breathed　slowly。　My　thought；　or　inner　consciousness；　went　up　through　the
illumined　sky；　and　I　was　lost　in　a　moment　of　exaltation。　This　only　lasted　a
very　short　time；　perhaps　only
part　of　a　second；　and　while　it　lasted　there　was　no　formulated　wish。　I　was
absorbed；　I　drank　the　beauty　of　the　morning；　I　was　exalted。　　When　it　ceased
I　did　wish　for　some　increase　or　enlargement　of　my　existence　to　correspond
with　the　largeness　of　feeling　I　had　momentarily　enjoyed。　Sometimes　the　wind
came　through　the　tops　of　the　elms；　and　the　slender　boughs　bent；　and　gazing
up　through　them；　and　beyond　the　fleecy　clouds；　I　felt　lifted　up。　The　light
coming　across　the　grass　and　leaving　itself　on　the　dew…drops；　the　sound　of
the　wind；　and　the　sense　of　mounting　to　the　lofty　heaven；　filled　me　with　a
deep　sigh；　a　wish　to　draw　something　out　of　the　beauty　of　it；　some　part　of
that　which　caused　my　admiration；　the　subtle　inner　essence。

Sometimes　the　green　tips　of　the　highest　boughs　seemed　gilded；
the　light　laid　a　gold　on　the　green。　Or　the　trees　bowed　to　a
stormy　wind　roaring　through　them；　the　grass　threw　itself　down；　and　in　the
east　broad　curtains　of　a　rosy　tint　stretched　along。　The　light　was　turned　to
redness　in　the　vapour；　and　rain　hid　the
summit　of　the　hill。　　In　the　rush　and　roar　of　the　stormy　wind　the
same　exaltation；　the　same　desire；　lifted　me　for　a　moment。　I　went　there　every
morning；　I　could　not　exactly　define　why；　it　was　like　going　to　a　rose　bush　to
taste　the　scent　of　the　flower　and　feel　the　dew　from　its　petals　on　the　lips。
But　I　desired　the　beautythe　inner　subtle　meaningto　be　in　me；　that　I
might　have　it；　and　with　it　an　existence　of　a　higher　kind。

Later　on　I　began　to　have　daily　pilgrimages　to　think　these　things。　There　was
a　feeling　that　I　must　go　somewhere；　and　be　alone。　It　was　a　necessity　to　have
a　few　minutes　of　this　separate　life　every　day；　my　mind　required　to　live　its
own　life　apart　from　other　things。　　A　great　oak　at　a　short　distance　was　one
resort；　and　sitting　on　the　grass　at　the　roots；　or　leaning　against　the　trunk
and　looking　over　the　quiet　meadows　towards　the　bright　southern　sky；　I　could
live　my　own　life　a　little　while。　Behind　the　trunk　I　was　alone；　I　liked　to
lean　against　it；　to　touch　the　lichenon　the　rough　bark。　　High　in　the　wood　of
branches　the　birds　were　not　alarmed；　they　sang；　or　called；　and　passed　to　and
fro　happily。　The　wind　moved　the　leaves；　and　they　replied　to　it　softly；　and
now　at　this　distance　of　time　I　can　see　the　fragments　of　sky　up　through　the
boughs。　Bees　were　always　humming　in　the　green　field；　ring…doves　went　over
swiftly；　flying　for　the　woods。

Of　the　sun　I　was　conscious；　I　could　not　look　at　it；　but　the　boughs　held　back
the　beams　so　that　I　could　feel　the　sun's
presence　pleasantly。　They　shaded　the　sun；　yet　let　me　know　that
it　was　there。　There　came　to　me　a　delicate；　but　at　the　same　time
a　deep；　strong；　and　sensuous　enjoyment　of　the　beautiful　green
earth；　the　beautiful　sky　and　sun；　I　felt　them；　they　gave　me
inexpressible　delight；　as　if　they　embraced　and　poured　out　their　love　upon
me。　It　was　I　who　loved　them；　for　my　heart　was　broader　than　the　earth；　it　is
broader　now　than　even　then；　more　thirsty　and　desirous。　After　the　sensuous
enjoyment　always　came　the　thought；　the　desire：　That　I　might　be　like　this；
that　I　might　have　the　inner　meaning　of　the　sun；　the　light；　the　earth；　the
trees　and　grass；　translated　into　some　growth　of　excellence　in　myself；　both
of　body　and　of　mind；　greater　perfection　of　physique；　greater　perfection　of
mind　and　soul；　that　I　might　be　higher　in　myself。　To　this　oak　I　came　daily
for　a　long　time；　sometimes　only　for　a　minute；　for　just　to　view　the　spot　was
enough。　In　the　bitter　cold　of　spring；　when　the　north　wind　blackened
everything；　I　used　to　come　now　and　then　at　night　to　look　from　under　the　bare
branches　at　the　splendour　of　the　southern　sky。　The　stars　burned　with
brilliance；　broad　Orion　and　flashing　Siriusthere　are　more　or　brighter
constellations　visible　then　than　all　the　year：　and　the　clearness　of　the　air
and　the　blackness　of　the　skyblack；　not　cloudedlet　them　gleam　in　their
fulness。　They　lifted　methey　gave　me　fresh　vigour　of　soul。　Not　all　that　the
stars　could　have　given；　had　they　been　destinies；　could　have　satiated　me。
This；　all　this；　and
more；　I　wanted　in　myself。

There　was　a　place　a　mile　or　so　along　the　road　where　the　hills
could　be　seen　much　better；　I　went　there　frequently　to　think　the
same　thought。　Another　spot　was　by　an　elm；　a　very　short　walk；
where　openings　in　the　trees；　and　the　slope　of　the　ground；
brought　the　hills　well　into　view。　This　too；　was　a　favourite
thinking…place。　Another　was　a　wood；　half　an　hour's　walk
distant；　through　part　of　which　a　rude　track　went；　so　that　it　was
not　altogether　inclosed。　The　ash…saplings；　and　the　trees；　the
firs；　the　hazel　bushesto　be　among　these　enabled　me　to　be
myself。　From　the　buds　of　spring　to　the　berries　of　autumn；　I
always　liked　to　be　there。　Sometimes　in　spring　there　was　a　sheen　of
blue…bells　covering　acres；　the　doves　cooed；　the　blackbirds　whistled　sweetly；
there　was　a　taste　of　green　things　in　the　air。　But　it　was　the　tall　firs　that
pleased　me　most；　the　glance　rose　up　the　flame…shaped　fir…tree；　tapering　to
its　green　tip；　and　above　was　the　azure　sky。　By　aid　of　the　tree　I　felt　the
sky　more。　By　aid　of　everything　beautiful　I　felt　myself；　and　in　that　intense
sense　of　consciousness　prayed　for　greater　perfection　of　soul　and　body。

Afterwards；　I　walked　almost　daily　more　than　two　miles　along　the
road　to　a　spot　where　the　hills　began；　where　from　the　first　rise
the　road　could　be　seen　winding　southwards　over　the　hills；　open
and　uninclosed。　I　paused　a　minute　or　two　by　a　clump　of　firs；　in
whose　branches　the　wind　always　sighedthere　is　always　a　movement　of　the　air
on　a　hill。　　Southwwards　the　sky　was　illumined　by　the　sun；　southwards　the
clouds　moved　across　the　opening　or　pass　in　the　amphitheatre；　and　southwards；
though　far　distant；　was　the　sea。　There　I　could　think　a　moment。　These
pilgrimages　gave　me　a　few　sacred　minutes　daily；　the　moment　seemed　holy　when
the　thought　or　desire　came　in　its　full　force。

A　time　came　when；　having　to　live　in　a　town；　these　pilgrimages
had　to　be　suspended。　The　wearisome　work　on　which　I　was　engaged
would　not　permit　of　them。　But　I　used　to　look　now　and　then；　from
a　window；　in　the　evening　at　a　birch…tree　at　some　distance；　its
graceful　boughs　drooped　across　the　glow　of　the　sunset。　The
thought　was　not　suspended；　it　lived　in　me　always。　A　bitterer
time　still　came　when　it　was　necessary　to　be　separated　from　those
I　loved。　There　is　little　indeed　in　the　more　immediate　suburbs
of　London　to　gratify　the　sense　of　the　beautiful。　Yet　there　was　a　cedar　by
which　I　used　to　walk　up　and　down；　and　think　the
same　thoughts　as　under　the　great　oak　in　the　solitude　of　the　sunlit　meadows。
In　the　course　of　slow　time　happier　circumstances　brought　us　together　again；
and；　though　near　London；　at　a　spot　where　there　was　easy　access　to　meadows
and　woods。　Hills　that　purify　those　who　walk　on　them　there　were
not。　Still　I　thought　my　old　thoughts。

I　was　much　in　London；　and；　engagements　completed；　I　wandered　about　in　the
same　way　as　in　the　woods　of　former　days。　From　the
stone　bridges　I　looked　down　on　the　river；　the　gritty　dust；　the
straws　that　lie　on　the　bridges；　flew　up　and　whirled　round　with
every　gust　from　the　flowing　tide；　gritty　dust　that　settles　in
the　nostrils　and　on　the　lips；　the　very　residuum　of　all　that　is
repulsive　in　the　greatest　city　of　the　world。　The　noise　of　the
traffic　and　the　constant　pressure　from　the　crowds　passing；
their　incessant　and　disjointed　talk；　could　not　distract　me。　One　moment　at
least　I　had；　a　moment　when　I　thought　of　the　push　of　the　great　sea　forcing
the　water　to　flow　under　the　feet　of　these　crowds；　the　distant　sea　strong　and
splendid；　when　I　saw　the　sunlight　gleam　on　the　tidal　wavelets；　when　I　felt
the　wind；　and　was　conscious　of　the　earth；　the　sea；　the　sun；　the　air；　the
immense　forces　working　on；　while　the　city　hummed　by　the　river。　Nature　was
deepened　by　the　crowds　and　foot…worn　stones。　If　the　tide　had　ebbed；　and　the
masts　of　the　vessels　were　tilted　as　the　hulls　rested　on　the　shelving　mud；
still　even　the　blackened　mud　did　not　prevent　me　seeing　the　water　as　water
flowing　to　the　sea。　The　sea　had　drawn　down；　and　the　wavelets　washing　the
strand　here　as　they　hastened　were　running　the　faster　to　it。　Eastwards　from
London　Bridge　the　river　raced　to　the　ocean。

The　bright　morning　sun　of　summer　heated　the　eastern　parapet　of
London　Bridge；　I　stayed　in　the　recess　to　acknowledge　it。　The
smooth　water　was　a　broad　sheen　of　light；　the　built…up　river
flowed　calm　and　silent　by　a　thousand　doors；　rippling　only　where
the　stream　chafed　against　a　chain。　Re