They were so much alive in me that I scarcely stopped to
wonder whether they were alive anywhere else, or how.
II
ONE MARCH EVENING in my sophomore year I was sitting alone in my room after
supper. There had been a warm thaw all day, with mushy yards and little
streams of dark water gurgling cheerfully into the streets out of old
snow-banks. My window was open, and the earthy wind blowing through made me
indolent. On the edge of the prairie, where the sun had gone down, the sky
was turquoise blue, like a lake, with gold light throbbing in it. Higher
up, in the utter clarity of the western slope, the evening star hung like a
lamp suspended by silver chains--like the lamp engraved upon the title-page
of old Latin texts, which is always appearing in new heavens, and waking
new desires in men. It reminded me, at any rate, to shut my window and
light my wick in answer. I did so regretfully, and the dim objects in the
room emerged from the shadows and took their place about me with the
helpfulness which custom breeds.
I propped my book open and stared listlessly at the page of the `Georgics'
where tomorrow's lesson began. It opened with the melancholy reflection
that, in the lives of mortals the best days are the first to flee. 'Optima
dies ...
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