At that season
those who had gone down to pace the beach and ask of the sea and sky what
message they reported or what vision they affirmed had to consider among
the usual tokens of divine bounty--the sunset on the sea, the
pallor of dawn, the moon rising, fishing-boats against the moon, and
children making mud pies or pelting each other with handfuls of grass,
something out of harmony with this jocundity and this serenity. There
was the silent apparition of an ashen-coloured ship for instance,
come, gone; there was a purplish stain upon the bland surface of the
sea as if something had boiled and bled, invisibly, beneath. This
intrusion into a scene calculated to stir the most
sublime
reflections and lead to the most comfortable conclusions stayed their pacing. It
was difficult blandly to overlook them; to abolish their significance
in the landscape; to continue, as one walked by the sea, to marvel
how beauty outside mirrored beauty within.
To the Lighthouse (137-8)
No comments:
Post a Comment