XXII. THE QUARRY IN THE WOOD.

Swiftly deliberate, he seeks the place.

A small wind stirs, the copse is bright in the sun:

Like quicksilver the shine and shadow run

Across the leaves. A bramble whips his face,

The tears spring fast, and through the rainbow mist

He sees a world that wavers like the flame

Of a blown candle. Tears of pain and shame,

And lips that once had laughed and sung and kissed

Trembling in the passion of his sobbing breath!

The world a candle shuddering to its death,

And life a darkness, blind and utterly void

Of any love or goodness: all deceit,

This friendship and this God: all shams destroyed,

And truth seen now.

Earth fails beneath his feet.