Хвилі

           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.