‘The clouds are massed in splendid state
At heaven’s unbarred western gate
Where troops of star-eyed spirits wait’—
By gad, what does that mean?”
“I—I—don’t know,” faltered startled Emily, whose wits had been scattered by the sudden swoop of his spiked glance.
Mr. Carpenter snorted.
“For heaven’s sake, girl, don’t write what you can’t understand yourself. And this—To Life—‘Life, as thy gift I ask no rainbow joy’—is that sincere? Is it, girl. Stop and think. Do you ask ‘no rainbow joy’ of life?”
He transfixed her with another glare. But Emily was beginning to pick herself up a bit. Nevertheless, she suddenly felt oddly ashamed of the very elevated and unselfish desires expressed in that sonnet.
“No—o,” she answered reluctantly. “I do want rainbow joy—lots of it.”