from Mrs. Dalloway…
Her evening dresses hung in the cupboard.
Clarissa, plunging her hand into the softness,
gently detached the green dress and carried
it to the window. She had torn it. Someone
had trod on the skirt. She had felt it give at
the Embassy party at the top among the folds.
By artificial light the green shone, but lost its
colour now in the sun. She would mend it.
Her maids had too much to do. She would
wear it tonight. She would take her silks,
her scissors, her – what was it? Her thimble,
of course, down into the drawing-room...
Quiet descended on her, calm, content,
as her needle, drawing the silk smoothly
to its gentle pause, collected the green
folds together and attached them, very
lightly, to the belt. So on a summer’s day
waves collect, overbalance, and fall; collect
and fall; and the whole world seems to be
saying “that is all” more and more
ponderously, until even the heart in the
body which lies in the sun on the beach says
too, That is all. Fear no more, says the heart.
Fear no more, says the heart, committing
its burden to some sea, which sighs
collectively for all sorrows, and renews,
begins, collects, lets fall. And the body alone
listens to the passing bee; the wave breaking;
the dog barking, far away barking and barking.”