noon
He shivered now before the immediate majesty of the scene , and the historic meanings that enriched it as with an embroidered arras . Yet he gave out no more words than an Æolian harp shuddering with ecstasy in a wind too gentle to make it audible . In such moods he hunted solitude , for he was ashamed to be seen , afraid to be observed in the raptures that did not belong in the vocabulary of a business man . He had talked at noon about the fact that he and Shakespeare 's father were in wool , and he had annoyed a few modest Americans by comparing the petty amount of the elder Shakespeare 's trade with the vast total pouring from his own innumerable looms driven with the electricity that the Shakespeares had never dreamed of . He had redeemed himself for his pretended brag by a meek admission : `` But I 'm afraid my boy will never write another ` Hamlet . ' '' Yet what could he know of his own son ? How little Will Shakespeare 's father or his scandalized neighbors could have fancied that the scapegrace good-for-naught who left the town for the town 's good would make it immortal ; and , coming back to die and lie down forever beside the Avon , would bring a world of pilgrims to a new Mecca , the shrine of the supreme unique poet of all human time ?