CROME YELLOW
97
in words. At the end of an hour, nine more or less complete lines emerged from among the blots and scratchings.
"I do not know what I desire
When summer nights are dark and still,
When the wind's many-voicéd quire
Sleeps among the muffled branches.
I long and know not what I will:
And not a sound of life or laughter stanches
Time's black and silent flow.
I do not know what I desire,
I do not know."
He read it through aloud; then threw the scribbled sheet into the waste-paper basket and got into bed again. In a very few minutes he was asleep.
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