nearly noon
The water laps idly about docks , -- lies calm , or gaily heaves . Why does it bring me doubts and fears now , that brought such bounty of beauty in the days long gone ? I remember that the day when my dark haired cousin , with hoops of barbaric gold in her ears , sailed for Italy , was quarter-day , and we balanced the books at the office . It was nearly noon , and in my impatience to be away , I had not added my columns with sufficient care . The inexorable hand of the office clock pointed sternly towards twelve , and the remorseless pendulum ticked solemnly to noon . To a man whose pleasures are not many , and rather small , the loss of such an event as saying farewell and wishing God-speed to a friend going to Europe , is a great loss . It was so to me , especially , because there was always more to me , in every departure , than the parting and the farewell .