“Be happy now, my weary little wife,” the Devil will say.
And the long, long yellow-gold day will be filled with the music of Real Life.
My grandest possibility will be realized. The world contains a great many things—and this is my grandest possibility realized!
I will weep rapturous tears.
When I think of all this and write it there is in me a feeling that is more than pain.
Perhaps the very sweetest, the tenderest, the most pitiful and benign human voice in the world could sing these things and this feeling set to their own wondrous music,—and it would echo far—far,—and you would understand.
[February 20.]
AT TIMES when I walk among the natural things—the barren, natural things—I know that I believe in Something. Why can I not call it God and pray to it?
There is Something—I do not know it intellectually, but I feel it—I feel it—with my soul. It does not seem to reach down to me. It does not pity me. It does not look at me tenderly in my unhappiness.