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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
307
What
a
delightful
thing
the
state
of
Death
would
be
if
the
dead
passed
their
time
haunting
the
places
they
loved
in
life
and
living
over
again
the
dear
delightful
past--if
death
were
one
long
indulgence
in
the
pleasures
of
memory!
if
the
disembodied
spirit
forgot
all
the
pains
of
its
previous
existence
and
remembered
only
the
happiness!
Think
of
me
flitting
about
the
orchards
and
farm-yards
in
----
birdsnesting,
walking
along
the
coast
among
the
seabirds,
climbing
Exmoor,
bathing
in
streams
and
in
the
sea,
haunting
all
my
old
loves
and
passions,
cutting
open
with
devouring
curiosity
Rabbits,
Pigeons,
Frogs,
Dogfish,
Amphioxus;
think
of
me,
too,
at
length
unwillingly
deflected
from
these
cherished
pursuits
in
the
raptures
of
first
love,
cutting
her
initials
on
trees
and
fences
instead
of
watching
birds,
day-dreaming
over
Parker
and
Haswell
and
then
bitterly
reproaching
myself
later
for
much
loss
of
precious
time.
How
happy
I
shall
be
if
Death
is
like
this:
to
be
living
over
again
and
again
all
my
ecstasies,
over
first
times--the
first
time
I
found
a
Bottle
Tit's
nest,
the
first
time
I
succeeded
in
penetrating
into
the
fastnesses
of
my
El
Dorado--Exmoor,
the
first
time
I
gazed
upon
the
internal
anatomy
of
a
Snail,
the
first
time
I
read
Berkeley's
Principles
of
Human
Understanding
(what
a
soul-shaking
epoch
that
was!),
and
the
first
time
I
kissed
her!
My
hope
is
that
I
may
haunt
these
times
again,
that
I
may
haunt
the
places,
the
books,
the
bathes,
the
walks,
the
desires,
the
hopes,
the
first
(and
last)
loves
of
my
life
all
transfigured
and
beatified
by
sovereign
Memory.
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