Волны
Ihavehadpeaceful,productiveyears.IpossessallIsee.Ihavegrowntreesfromtheseed.Ihavemadepondsinwhichgoldfishhideunderthebroad-leavedlilies.Ihavenettedoverstrawberrybedsandlettucebeds,andstitchedthepearsandtheplumsintowhitebagstokeepthemsafefromthewasps.Ihaveseenmysonsanddaughters,oncenettedoverlikefruitintheircots,breakthemeshesandwalkwithme,tallerthanIam,castingshadowsonthegrass.
’Iamfencedin,plantedherelikeoneofmyowntrees.Isay,"Myson,"Isay,"Mydaughter,"andeventheironmongerlookingupfromhiscounterstrewnwithnails,paintandwire-fencingrespectstheshabbycaratthedoorwithitsbutterflynets,padsandbee-hives.WehangmistletoeovertheclockatChristmas,weighourblackberriesandmushrooms,countoutjam-pots,andstandyearbyyeartobemeasuredagainsttheshutterinthedrawing-roomwindow.Ialsomakewreathsofwhiteflowers,twistingsilver-leavedplantsamongthemforthedead,attachingmycardwithsorrowforthedeadshepherd,withsympathyforthewifeofthedeadcarter;andsitbythebedsofdyingwomen,whomurmurtheirlastterrors,whoclutchmyhand;frequentingroomsintolerableexcepttoonebornasIwasandearlyacquaintedwiththefarmyardandthedung-heapandthehensstrayinginandout,andthemotherwithtworoomsandgrowingchildren.Ihaveseenthewindowsrunwithheat,Ihavesmeltthesink.
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