. Chimney-pot papers . alone. The night still lingers. These dark lines of walland tree and tower are etched by Time with memoriesto burn the pattern. The darkness stirs strangely,like waters in the solemn bowl when a witch reads offthe future. But the past is in this darkness, and theDecember wind this night has roused up the summerwinds of long ago. In that cleft is the old are the stairs, wood and echoing with an almostforgotten tread, A word, a phrase, a face, shows foran instant in the shadows. Here, too, in memory, isa pageantry of old custom with its songs and uproar,victory
. Chimney-pot papers . alone. The night still lingers. These dark lines of walland tree and tower are etched by Time with memoriesto burn the pattern. The darkness stirs strangely,like waters in the solemn bowl when a witch reads offthe future. But the past is in this darkness, and theDecember wind this night has roused up the summerwinds of long ago. In that cleft is the old are the stairs, wood and echoing with an almostforgotten tread, A word, a phrase, a face, shows foran instant in the shadows. Here, too, in memory, isa pageantry of old custom with its songs and uproar,victory with its fires and dance. Forms, too, I see bent upon their books, eager ordull, with intent or sleepy finger on the page. AndI hear friendly cries and the sound of many feetacross the night. Dawn at last—a faint light through the the Chapel tower the bells sound the hour andstrike their familiar melody. Dawn. And now theEast in triumphal garment scatters my memories,born of night, before its flying Boots for Runaways, NOT long ago, having come through upon theuppers of my shoes, I wrapped the pair in abit of newspaper and went around the cornerinto Sixth Avenue to find a cobbler. This is notdifficult, for there are at least three cobblers to theblock, all of them in basements four or five steps belowthe sidewalk. Cobblers and little tailors who pressand repair clothing, small grocers and delicatessenvenders—these are the chief commerce of the passed my tailors shop, which is next to the is a Russian Jew who came to this country beforethe great war. Every Thursday, when he takes awaymy off suit, I ask him about the progress of the Revo-lution. At first I found him hopeful, yet in theselast few months his opinions are a little broken. His 160 CHIMNEY-POT PAPERS shop consists of a single room, with a stove to heathis irons and a rack for clothes. It is so open to thestreet that once when it was necessary for me tochange trousers he stood
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, bookpublisherlondo, bookyear1919
