"——she was more than usual calm,
She did not give a single damn."
He was not complaining.
All this was wholesome.
"Science!"
"No high-piled monuments are theirs who chose
Her great inglorious toil—no flaming death.
To them was sweet the poetry of prose,
And wisdom gave a fragrance to their breath.
"Who wrote that?" my mother asked.
With a thrill in his voice: "A friend of mine!" Eric said, "A friend of the human race."
And he told us about him.
I asked to have the verse written down.
Life seemed a splendid thing as he talked; but still, a splendour only to dazzle me—not to light and lead.