TO THE LIGHTHOUSEthe Lighthouse beam entered the rooms for amoment, sent its sudden stare over bed and wallin the darkness of winter, looked with equanimityat the thistle and the swallow, the rat and thestraw. Nothing now withstood them; nothingsaid no to them. Let the wind blow; let thepoppy seed itself and the carnation mate with thecabbage. Let the swallow build in the drawing-room, and the thistle thrust aside the tiles, and thebutterfly sun itself on the faded chintz of the arm-chairs. Let the broken glass and the china lieout on the lawn and be tangled over with grass andwild berries.

For now had come that moment, that hesita-tion when dawn trembles and night pauses, whenif a feather alight in the scale it will be weigheddown. One feather, and the house, sinking,falling, would have turned and pitched downwardsto the depths of darkness. In the ruined room,picnickers would have lit their kettles; loverssought shelter there, lying on the bare boards;and the shepherd stored his dinner on the bricks,and the tramp slept with his coat round him toward off the cold. Then the roof would havefallen; briars and hemlocks would have blottedout path, step, and window; would have grown,unequally but lustily over the mound, until sometrespasser, losing his way, could have told only214
Resize Images  

Select Pane

Berg Materials

View Pane