A diary without dates.

  • Bagnold, Enid.
Date:
[1918]
Catalogue details

Licence: Public Domain Mark

Credit: A diary without dates. Source: Wellcome Collection.

Provider: This material has been provided by University of California Libraries where the originals may be consulted.

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    burglar whistling to his mate in the black and rustling garden. But it was a blackbird in a nightmare. Those distant guns again to-night. . . . Now a lull and now a bombardment; again a lull, and then batter, batter, and the windows tremble. Is the lull when they go over the top ? I can only think of death to-night. I tried to think just now, What is it, after all I Death comes anyway ; this only hastens it. But that won't do ; no philosophy helps the pain of death. It is pity, pity, pity, that I feel, and sometimes a sort of shame that I am here to write at aU. Summer. . . . Can it be summer through whose hot air the guns shake and tremble ? The honeysuckle, whose Httle stalks twinkled and shone that January night, has broken at each woody end into its crumbled flower. Where is the frost, the snow ? . . . Where are the dead ? Where is my trouble and my longing, and the other troubles, and the happiness in other summers ? Alas, the long history of life! There is that in death that makes the throat contract