I have forgotten all the ways of sleep,
The endless, windless silence of my dream,
The milk-white poppy meadows and the stream,
The dreaming water soft and still and deep—
I have forgotten how that water flows,
I have forgotten how the poppy grows,
I have forgotten all the ways of sleep.
It was on an afternoon, a few days later, that David came into the hall of the Mottisfonts’ house.
“Lord save us, he do look bad,” was the thought in Markham’s mind as she let him in. Aloud she said that she thought Mrs. Mottisfont was just going out. As she spoke, Mary came down the stairs, bringing with her a sweet scent of violets.
Mary was very obviously going out. She wore a white cloth dress, with dark furs, and there was a large bunch of mauve and white violets at her breast. She looked a little vexed when she saw David.