Mon., June 29, 1914

Mon. June 29, 1914

Oh diary I sit here by my window on this perfect June day and I’ve just finished reading that wonderful book “The Mistress of Shenstone” of I have entered so into the throws of anguish and joy of those two souls of the book that I feel as if it were a part of me.  The love is portrayed here   Oh diary I crave for it. And as I sat here thinking, thinking! I looked out at the soft green of the oaks and at some little pure white tufts of clouds floating in the clear blue sky and I thought “Such wonderous beauty you may look at but not attain.” And indeed it seems as though as far away and beautiful as those pure white clouds so far is love from me.  And as I look out the window sash cuts off the lofty crests of the oaks and leaves only the waving top of a little maple to my view. And so I seem, only a lesser tree to whom it is denied that infinite and wonderful revelation of life to which the tops of the oaks may reach.

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