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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