With the moon above me.
XII.
Thyrsis, who loved the rain in the dreaming hollows,
Wandereth now soft-sandalled in misty ways,
Where the scent of flag
Recalleth not
Hylas, lonely.
Sister
Sherwood Anderson
The young artist is a woman, and at evening she comes to talk to me in my room. She is my sister, but long ago she has forgotten that and I have forgotten.