THE WAVES I 
eternal renewal, the incessant rise and fall and fall and rise 
again. 
“ And in me too the wave rises. It swells; it arches its 
back. 1 am aware once more of a new desire, something 
rising beneath me like the proud horse whose rider first 
spurs and then pulls him back, What enemy do we now 
perceive advancing against us, you whom I ride now, as we 
stand pawing this stretch of pavement ? It is death. Death 
is the enemy. It is death against whom I ride with my spear 
couched and my hair flying back like a young man’s, like 
Percival’s, when he galloped in India. I strike spurs into my 
horse. Against you I will fling myself, unvanquished and 
unyielding, O Death |” 
The waves broke on the shore. 
THE END 
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