Excerpt from London Etchings
Whether he drinks it from earthen vessels of winter or from golden stoups of summer, it is never anything but water now; yet he can still remember some times how, long ago, one dazzling mom ing when the spirit of spring breathed a new soul into the world, there came on him also a sudden change, and the water of his life blushed to wine.
The miracle happened in this wise bending that morning, as usual, over his writing, he was suddenly thrilled by an ethereal singing, every note of which wavered, a wonderful bubble of sound, down into the dead stillness of the square and burst, filling it with thin echoes.
He caught his breath and, glancing in bewilderment at the houses Opposite, saw the singer, a fair young girl, reaching from an attic casement to hang a bird cage on a nail.
The sun was flashing in the upper windows on the other side of the square.
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