Lab
Library
Journal
Shop
Sign in
to keep
1
158
Adventures in Contentment
·
David Grayson
29
Finally,
I
took
the
book
which
he
had
been
urging
upon
me,
at
which
Harriet
coughed
meaningly
to
attract
my
attention.
She
knew
the
danger
when
I
really
got
my
hands
on
a
book.
But
I
made
up
as
innocent
as
a
child.
I
opened
the
book
almost
at
random--and
it
was
as
though,
walking
down
a
strange
road,
I
had
come
upon
an
old
tried
friend
not
seen
before
in
years.
For
there
on
the
page
before
me
I
read:
"The
world
is
too
much
with
us;
late
and
soon,
Getting
and
spending
we
lay
waste
our
powers:
Little
we
see
in
Nature
that
is
ours;
We
have
given
our
hearts
away,
a
sordid
boon!
The
sea
that
bares
her
bosom
to
the
moon;
The
winds
that
will
be
howling
at
all
hours,
But
are
up-gathered
now
like
sleeping
flowers;
For
this,
for
everything,
we
are
out
of
tune;
It
moves
us
not."
And
as
I
read
it
came
back
to
me--a
scene
like
a
picture--the
place,
the
time,
the
very
feel
of
the
hour
when
I
first
saw
those
lines.
Who
shall
say
that
the
past
does
not
live!
An
odour
will
sometimes
set
the
blood
coursing
in
an
old
emotion,
and
a
line
of
poetry
is
the
resurrection
and
the
life.
For
a
moment
I
forgot
Harriet
and
the
agent,
I
forgot
myself,
I
even
forgot
the
book
on
my
knee--everything
but
that
hour
in
the
past--a
view
of
shimmering
hot
housetops,
the
heat
and
dust
and
noise
of
an
August
evening
in
the
city,
the
dumb
weariness
of
it
all,
the
loneliness,
the
longing
for
green
fields;
and
then
these
great
lines
of
Wordsworth,
read
for
the
first
time,
flooding
in
upon
me:
Marker
Marker
Fine marker
White-out
Fine white-out
Circle
Paint
Unmarker
Hand
Scalpel
Dice
Sieve
Purify
Undo
Redo
Start over
