the story of my heart-第3章

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to　and　fro　the　past　and　the　present；　in　an　instant。

Full　to　the　brim　of　the　wondrous　past；　I　felt　the　wondrous
present。　　For　the　daythe　very　moment　I　breathed；　that　second　of　time　then
in　the　valley；　was　as　marvellous；　as　grand；　as　all
that　had　gone　before。　　Now；　this　moment　was　the　wonder　and　the
glory。Now；this　moment　was　exceedingly　wonder…
ful。　Now；　this　moment　give　me　all　the
thought；　all　the　idea；　ali　the　soul　expressed　in　the　cosmos
around　me。　Give　me　still　more；　for　the　interminable　universe；
past　and　present；　is　but　earth；　give　me　the　unknown　soul；　wholly
apart　from　it；　the　soul　of　which　I　know　only　that　when　I　touch
the　ground；　when　the　sunlight　touches　my　hand；it　is　not　there。　　Therefore
the　heart　looks　into　space　to　be　away　from　earth。　　With　all　the　cycles；　and
the　sunlight　streaming　through　them；　with　all　that　is　meant　by　the　present；
I　thought　in　the　deep　vale　and　prayed。

There　was　a　secluded　spring　to　which　I　sometimes　went　to　drink
the　pure　water；　lifting　it　in　the　hollow　of　my　hand。　　Drinking
the　lucid　water；　clear　as　light　itself　in　solution；　I　absorbed
the　beauty　and　purity　of　it。　　I　drank　the　thought　of　the　element；　I　desired
soul…nature　pure　and　limpid。　　When　I　saw　the
sparkling　dew　on　the　grassa　rainbow　broken　into　dropsit　called　up　the
same　thought…prayer。　　The　stormy　wind　whose　sudden　twists　laid　the　trees　on
the　ground　woke　the　same　feeling；　my　heart　shouted　with　it。　　The　soft　summer
air　which　entered　when　I
opened　my　window　in　the　morning　breathed　the　same　sweet　desire。
At　night；　before　sleeping；　I　always　looked　out　at　the　shadowy　trees；　the
hills　looming　indistinctly　in　the　dark；　a　star　seen　between　the　drifting
clouds；　prayer　of　soul…life　always。　　I　chose　the　highest　room；　bare　and
gaunt；　because　as　I　sat　at　work　I　could　look　out　and　see　more　of　the　wide
earth；　more　of　the　dome　of　the　sky；　and　could　think　my　desire　through　these。
When　the　crescent　of　the　new　moon　shone；　all　the　old　thoughts　were　renewed。

All　the　succeeding　incidents　of　the　year　repeated　my　prayer　as
I　noted　them。　　The　first　green　leaf　on　the　hawthorn；　the　first
spike　of　meadow　grass；　the　first　song　of　the　nightingale；　the
green　ear　of　wheat。　　I　spoke　it　with　the　ear　of　wheat　as　the　sun
tinted　it　golden；　with　the　whitening　barley；　again　with　the　red　gold　spots
of　autumn　on　the　beech；　the　buff　oak　leaves；　and　the　gossamer　dew…weighted。
All　the　larks　over　the　green　corn　sang　it　for　me；　all　the　dear　swallows；　the
green　leaves　rustled　it；　the　green　brookflags　waved　it；　the　swallows　took　it
with　them　to　repeat　it　for　me　in　distant　lands。　　By　the　running　brook　I
meditated　it；　a　flash　of　sunlight　here　in　the　curve；　a　flicker　yonderon　the
ripples；　the　birds　bathing　in　the　sandy　shallow；　the　rush　of　falling　water。
As　the　brook　ran　winding　through　the
meadow；　so　one　thought　ran　winding　through　my　days。

The　sciences　I　studied　never　checked　it　for　a　moment；　nor　did　the　books　of
old　philosophy。　　The　sun　was　stronger　than　science；
the　hills　more　than　philosophy。　　Twice　circumstances　gave　me　a　brief　view　of
the　sea　then　the　passion　rose　tumultuous　as　the
waves。　　It　was　very　bitter　to　me　to　leave　the　sea。

Sometimes　I　spent　the　whole　day　walking　over　the　hills
searching　for　it；　as　if　the　labour　of　walking　would　force　it
from　the　ground。　　I　remained　in　the　woods　for　hours；　among　the
ash　sprays　and　the　fluttering　of　the　ring…doves　at　their　nests；
the　scent　of　pines　here　and　there；　dreaming　my　prayer。

My　work　was　most　uncongenial　and　useless；　but　even　then　sometimes　a
gleam　of　sunlight　on　the　wall；　the　buzz　of　a　bee　at　the　window；　would　bring
the　thought　to　me。　　Only　to　make　me　miserable；　for　it　was　a　waste　of　golden
time　while　the　rich　sunlight　streamed　on　hill　and　plain。　　There　was　a
wrenching　of　the　mind；　a　straining　of　the　mental　sinews；　I　was　forced　to　do
this；　my　mind　was　yonder。　　Weariness；　exhaustion；　nerve…illness　often
ensued。　　The　insults　which　are　showered　on　poverty；　long　struggle　of　labour；
the　heavy　pressure　of　circumstances；　the　unhappiness；　only　stayed　the
expression　of　the　feeling。　　It　was　always　there。　　Often　in　the　streets　of
London；　as　the　red　sunset　flamed　over　the　houses；　the　old　thought；　the　old
prayer；　came。

Not　only　in　grassy　fields　with　green　leaf　and　running　brook　did
this　constant　desire　find　renewal。　　More　deeply　still　with
living　human　beauty；　the　perfection　of　form；　the　simple　fact　of
form；　ravished　and　always　willravish　me　away。　　In　this　lies　the　outcome　and
end　of　all　the　loveliness　of　sunshine　and　green　leaf；　of　flowers；　pure
water；　and　sweet　air。　　This　is　embodiment　and　highest　ex…pression；　the
scattered；　uncertain；　and　designless　loveliness　of　tree　and　sunlight　brought
to　shape。　　Through　this　beauty　Iprayed　deepest　and　longest；　and　down　to　this
hour。　　The　shapethe　divine　idea　of　that　shapethe　swelling　muscle　or　the
dreamy　limb；　strong　sinew　or　curve　of　bust；　Aphrodite　or　Hercules；　it　is　the
same。　　That　I　may　have　the　soul…life；　the　soul…nature；　let　divine　beauty
bring　to　me　divine　soul。　　Swart　Nubian；　white　Greek；　delicate　Italian；
massive　Scandinavian；　in　all　the　exquisite　pleasure　the　form　gave；　and
gives；　to　me　immediately　becomes　intense　prayer。

If　I　could　have　been　in　physical　shape　like　these；　how
despicable　in　comparison　I　am；　to　be　shapely　of　form　is　so
infinitely　beyond　wealth；　power；　fame；　all　that　ambition　can　give；　that
these　are　dust　before　it。　　Unless　of　the　human　form；　no　pictures　hold　me；
the　rest　are　flat　surfaces。　　So；　too；　with
the　other　arts；　they　are　dead；　the　potters；　the　architects；
meaningless；　stony；　and　some　repellent；　like　the　cold　touch　of
porcelain。　　No　prayer　with　these。　　Only　the　human　form　in　art
could　raise　it；　and　most　in　statuary。　　I　have　seen　so　little
good　statuary；　it　is　a　regret　to　me；　still；　that　I　have　is
beyond　all　other　art。　　Fragments　here；　a　bust　yonder；　the
broken　pieces　brought　from　Greece；　copies；　plaster　casts；　a
memory　of　an　Aphrodite；　of　a　Persephone；　of　an　Apollo；　that　is
all；　but　even　drawings　of　statuary　will　raise　the　prayer。
These　statues　were　like　myself　full　of　a　thought；　for　ever
about　to　burst　forth　as　a　bud；　yet　silent　in　the　same　attitude。
Give　me　to　live　the　soul…life　they　express。　　The　smallest
fragment　of　marble　carved　in　the　shape　of　the　human　arm　will　wake　the　desire
I　felt　in　my　hill…prayer。

Time　went　on；　good　fortune　and　success　never　for　an　instant
deceived　me　that　they　were　in　themselves　to　be　sought；　only　my
soul…thought　was　worthy。　　Further　years　bringing　much　suffering；
grinding　the　very　life　out；　new　troubles；　renewed　insults；　loss
of　what　hard　labour　had　earned；　the　bitter　question：　Is　it　not
better　to　leap　into　the　sea？　　These；　too；　have　made　no
impression；　constant　still　to　the　former　prayer　my　mind　endures。
It　was　my　chief　regret　that　I　had　not　endeavoured　to　write　these　things；　to
give　expression　to　this　passion。　　I　am　now　trying；　but　I　see　that　I　shall
only　in　part　succeed。

The　same　prayer　comes　to　me　at　this　very　hour。　　It　is　now　less
solely　associated　with　the　sun　and　sea；　hills；　woods；　or
beauteous　human　shape。　　It　is　always　within。　It　requires　no　waking；　no
renewal；　it　is　always　with　me。　　I　am　it；　the　fact　of　my　existence　expresses
it。After　a　long　interval　I　came　to　the　hills　again；　this　time　by　the　coast。
I　found　a　deep　hollow　on　the　side　of　a　great　hill；　a　green　concave　opening
to　the　sea；　where　I　could　rest　and　think　in　perfect　quiet。　　Behind　me　were
furze　bushes　dried　by　the　heat；　immediately　in　front　dropped　the　steep
descent　of　the　bowl…like　hollow　which　received　and　brought　up　to　me　the
faint　sound　of　the　summer　waves。　　Yonder　lay　the　immense　plain　of　sea；　the
palest　green　under　the　continued　sunshine；　as　though　the　heat　had　evaporated
the　colour　from　it；　there　was　no　distinct　horizon；　a　heat…mist　inclosed　it
and　looked　farther　away　than　the　horizon　would　have　done。　　Silence　and
sunshine；　sea　and　hill　gradually　brought　my　mind　into　the　condition　of
intense　prayer。　　Day　after　day；　forhours　at　a　time；　I　came　there；　my
soul…desire　always　the　same。　　Presently　I　began　to　consider　how　I　could　put
a　part　of　that　prayer　into　form；　giving　it　an　object。　　Could　I　bring　it　into
such　a　shape　as　would　admit