1908: 219r
[E.C.]
praying – the place where one learns
the first few letters of the language
of that Song of Songs – the
charity of the Saints. O loved
Hospital, unknown a few months
ago!
The year has been very poor in gt.
impressions of beauty – only the
Solemnes Chant at Farnboro’
& the interior of Westminster
Cathedral at a Eucharistic Congress
High Mass & Solemn Benediction
have represented greatness in
beauty to my imagination, or
set my senses in the amber
of an impertable[?] memory.
I recall the sharp rose-light
of the little roses on the balcony
of Paragon in June that dazzled
Goscommon, & turned Gordon
Bottomly into a poet. He has
sent us verses on the Paragon,
I have made real, under Michael’s
benignity.
But no book has moved us – I
mourn over the bare walls[?]
of recollection. And, with the
exception of the strange flats of
Anglesea, Druidic & seamed with
salt channels[?] & rimmed[?] with
Exalted mountain-clouds, Earth
has not shown us any striking
beauty any more than Art.
No book has moved us, except