Cricketers on village greens, haymakers in the evening sunshine,
small boats that sail before the wind--all these create in me
the illusion of Happiness, as if a land of cloudless pleasure, a
piece of the old Golden World, were hidden, not (as poets have
imagined), in far seas or beyond inaccessible mountains, but
here close at hand, if one could find it, in some undiscovered
valley. Certain grassy lanes seem to lead between the meadows
thither; the wild pigeons talk of it behind the woods.




_To-Day_


I woke this morning out of dreams into what we call Reality,
into the daylight, the furniture of my familiar bedroom--in fact
into the well-known, often-discussed, but, to my mind, as yet
unexplained Universe.

Then I, who came out of Eternity and seem to be on my way
thither, got up and spent the day as I usually spend it. I read,
I pottered, I talked, and took exercise; and I sat punctually
down to eat the cooked meals that appeared at stated intervals.




_The Afternoon Post_