We sang a
lusty hymn together, accompanied on the little, wheezy, dining-room
organ. I liked the good, simple melodies sung, straight and hearty,
without trills and twirls....
Every night, just before "lights out," at ten, fifteen minutes was set
aside, called "silent time"--and likewise in the morning, just before
breakfast-bell--for prayer and religious meditation.
* * * * *
Jimmy Anderson, my little blond roommate, fair-haired and delicate-faced
as a girl (his sisters, on the contrary, not femininely pretty, as he,
but masculine and handsome)--Jimmy Anderson read his Bible and knelt and
prayed during both "silent times."
I read the Bible and prayed for the quiet, religious luxury of it. My
prayer, when I prayed, was just to "God," not Jehovah ... not to God of
any sect, religion, creed.
"Dear God," ran always my prayer, "Dear God, if you really exist, make
me a great poet. I ask for nothing else. Only let me become famous."
* * * * *
I was so happy in my studies,--my work, even,--my wanderings in the
woods and along the country roads, with the poets under my arms.... I
read them all, from Layamon's _Brut_ on. For, for me, all that existed
was poetry. At this stage of my life it was my be-all and end-all.
* * * * *
My father was a most impractical man.
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