The great, golden feeling passed, leaving echoes, leaving memory. These folk were separate again where they had been one, but not so separate. In and out hovered that breath of transfiguration, a day of spring in late winter, dying, but with a tongue to tell of a time when it would not die. Where all had been vivid, singing, laughing, now was the wonted gentleness of this valley, a dreaminess shot with gold, taking and giving, but doing it subtly, silently, only now and then bestowing evidence of a vast interpenetrative life, showing like the eyes through the veil of this Indian summer day. They went down through the corn and out by a gate, set in the gray and lichened rail fence, where grew sumac and farewell-summer and the feathery traveler's-joy. They walked in meadows by the river, and at last through the orchard, and so to the house. Mimy, in the kitchen, was singing: "Oh, Jesus tell you once befo', Babylon's fallin' to rise no mo'. Oh, go in peace and sin no mo', Babylon's fallin' to rise no mo'!" In the evening Frances played again to them, and the rich and sweet music filled the old room. The violin put by, they talked by the fire; then Linden said, "Read for a little while, Marget." She took up a volume of Blake, and read. "Read that letter to Butts." She read: "... Over sea, over land My eyes did expand Into regions of fire, Remote from desire; The light of the morning Heaven's mountains adorning; In particles bright, The jewels of light Distinct shone and clear. Amazed and in fear I each particle gazed, Astonished, amazed; For each was a Man Human formed. Swift I ran, For they beckoned to me, Remote by the sea, Saying: 'Each grain of sand, Every stone on the land, Each rock and each hill, Each fountain and rill, Each herb and each tree, Mountain, hill, earth and sea, Cloud, meteor and star, Are men seen afar.'... My eyes, more and more, Like a sea without shore, Continue expanding, The heavens commanding; Till the jewels of light, Heavenly men beaming bright, Appeared as One Man, Who complacent began My limbs to enfold In his beams of bright gold; Like dross purged away All my mire and clay. Soft consumed in delight, In his bosom sun bright I remained. Soft He smiled. And I heard his voice mild, Saying: 'This is my fold, O thou ram horned with gold, Who awakest from sleep On the sides of the deep.'..." XV