And the pale hermit veiled his eyes,
and lo throughout his heart there streamed
the sweet sleep of his weary life.
When he awoke (he was dropping
down broad, still writers in a drifting ship)
he cried: Let me remember, Lord!
God, let me dream! Nothing is more sweet,
God, than the end of grief, but ’tis
grievous to forget it; for ’tis hard
to cast away the flower that only smells when plucked.
In “_The Two Children_” two little ones, having come to blows in heroic
fashion at their play one evening, are ignominiously swept off to bed
by their mother. In the dark, full of denser shadows, their sobbing
gradually ceases, they draw nearer to each other, and when the mother
comes to look at them, shading the light with her hand, she finds them
pressed close together, good beyond their wont, asleep. And she tucks
them in with a smile. The third part takes up the parable as follows:—