"Virginia Woolf_-_Monday_or_Tuesday" - читать интересную книгу автора (Woolf Virginia)

thrush crossed the carpet; from the deepest wells of silence the
wood pigeon drew its bubble of sound. "Safe, safe, safe," the pulse of the
house beat softly.
"The treasure buried; the room..." the pulse stopped short. Oh, was that
the buried treasure?
A moment later the light had faded. Out in the garden then? But the trees
spun darkness for a wandering beam of sun. So fine, so rare, coolly sunk
beneath the surface the beam I sought always burnt behind the glass. Death
was the glass; death was between us; coming to the woman first, hundreds
of years ago, leaving the house, sealing all the windows; the rooms were
darkened. He left it, left her, went North, went East, saw the stars
turned in the Southern sky; sought the house, found it dropped beneath the
Downs. "Safe, safe, safe," the pulse of the house beat gladly. "The
Treasure yours."
The wind roars up the avenue. Trees stoop and bend this way and that.
Moonbeams splash and spill wildly in the rain. But the beam of the lamp
falls straight from the window. The candle burns stiff and still.
Wandering through the house, opening the windows, whispering not to wake
us, the ghostly couple seek their joy.
"Here we slept," she says. And he adds, "Kisses without number." "Waking
in the morningЧ"
"Silver between the treesЧ" "UpstairsЧ" "In the gardenЧ" "When summer
cameЧ" "In winter snow timeЧ" The doors go shutting far in the distance,
gently knocking like the pulse of a heart.
Nearer they come; cease at the doorway. The wind falls, the rain slides
silver down the glass.
Our eyes darken; we hear no steps beside us; we see no lady spread her
ghostly cloak. His hands shield the lantern. "Look," he breathes. "Sound
asleep. Love upon their lips."
Stooping, holding their silver lamp above us, long they look and deeply.
Long they pause. The wind drives straightly; the flame stoops slightly.
Wild beams of moonlight cross both floor and
wall, and, meeting, stain the faces bent; the faces pondering; the faces
that search the sleepers and seek their hidden joy.
"Safe, safe, safe," the heart of the house beats proudly. "Long yearsЧ" he
sighs. "Again you found me." "Here," she murmurs, "sleeping; in the garden
reading; laughing, rolling apples in the loft. Here we left our treasureЧ"
Stooping, their light lifts the lids upon my eyes. "Safe! safe!
safe!" the pulse of the house beats wildly.
Waking, I cry "Oh, is this your buried treasure? The light in the heart."