When through a rent in the rain-clouded
When through a rent in the rain-clouded
sky a ray of the sun suddenly glides
over the gloom of the meadows. . . .
We never come to thoughts. They come
to us.
That is the proper hour of discourse.
Discourse cheers us to companionable
reflection. Such reflection neither
parades polemical opinions nor does it
tolerate complaisant agreement. The sail
of thinking keeps trimmed hard to the
wind of the matter.
From such companionship a few perhaps
may rise to be journeymen in the
craft of thinking. So that one of them,
unforeseen, may become a master.