inity. Yet
at that goal another infinity starts, as another infinity starts in
numbers,--the symbol of patience after all.

"Unto the man of yearning thought
And aspiration, to do nought
Is in itself almost an act,--
Being chasm-fire and cataract
Of the soul's utter depths unseal'd.
Yet woe to thee if once thou yield
Unto the act of doing nought!"

Read Hello and Elia. I am learning how to see in crowds. These past
few days I have succeeded in withdrawing into life for long periods in
the midst of a general conversation, yet my absence was not noted in
the least. Out of it I hope will develop the ability to be with life
always in the tangle and confusion of city circumstance. This
afternoon I read _Phaedrus_ aloud on a sunny cliff, and in the evening
read aloud Keats' "I stood tiptoe" on the green heights in the wind
and the rain. Rossetti's lines do not forbid a life of contemplation,
but rather encourage it as distinguished from quietism. ... Through
the summer I am to see the Crucifixion. How I envy St. Francis the
Stigmata! Even as a little boy I desired them--but I shall never be
able perhaps to love passionately enough. The nights that I cried as a
little fellow without knowing why, just because I loved, were nearer
than I shall ever be again.

July 21.

At Benediction after Mass today I saw the Wonder in all Humanity with
Light surrounding It, and I shook with an awful thunder of sound. ...
Today I have been happy to tears, and in the blue afternoon on the
cliffs with my mother, I shared "Endymion" and "Epipsychidion." ... I
do not understand why silence is spoken of as a precept. To me it is
the living attribute of God. ... How nobly scornful is Sir Aubrey De
Vere's phrase, "witless ecstasies"!

July 22.

Simply a day of hard work. But I was happy in it. In an odd way I felt
as I wrote all day on the smooth white paper that I was stroking the
sleek breasts of doves. Tonight the steady patter of the rain upon the
eaves.

July 23.

A day of hard routine work. ... Tonight in the inky darkness I walked
to the postoffice in the thundering wind and rain and surf, and
learned how the deeps can praise the Lord. I have always felt the
wonder of that psalm.

July 24.

Rose at 4:30 and saw the sun rise a pure and shimmering symbol of the
Host above the silver outline of Wonder Island. The day was dumb. A
little boy has come whose face is his sacrament. What a s