July 1914

. . . Then I put my hand over it and felt for a latch, and then through the bars. I suppose one isn't expected to vault over it, I thought, — or to ride a bicycle up this side and dive into a fountain of real water on the other. . . . To Beauty. Why should you come to-night when it is so cold and grey and when the clouds are heavy and the bees troubled in their swinging?