Memory, out of the mist, in a long slow ripple Breaks, blindly, against the shore. - Alfred Noyes

Like the dawn upon a dream Slowly through the scented gloom Crept once more the ruddy gleam O'er the friendly nursery room. There, before our waking eyes, Large and ghostly, white and dim, Dreamed the Flower that never dies, Opening wide its rosy rim.

We have come by curious ways To the Light that holds the days; We have sought in haunts of fear For that all-enfolding sphere: And lo! it was not far, but near. We have found, O foolish-fond, The shore that has no shore beyond. Deep in every heart it lies With its untranscended skies; For what heaven should bend above Hearts that own the heaven of love?

He preferred to remain in Chalkdene where he was well known and universally disrespected. Permanent residents employed him occasionally for work that did not demand intelligence, honesty or personal cleanliness.