noon
I did not know how good a man I was till then . I remember the drawn faces , the dejected figures of my two men , and I remember my youth and the feeling that will never come back any more -- the feeling that I could last for ever , outlast the sea , the earth , and all men ; the deceitful feeling that lures us on to joys , to perils , to love , to vain effort -- to death ; the triumphant conviction of strength , the heat of life in the handful of dust , the glow in the heart that with every year grows dim , grows cold , grows small , and expires -- and expires , too soon -- before life itself . `` And this is how I see the East . I have seen its secret places and have looked into its very soul ; but now I see it always from a small boat , a high outline of mountains , blue and afar in the morning ; like faint mist at noon ; a jagged wall of purple at sunset . I have the feel of the oar in my hand , the vision of a scorching blue sea in my eyes . And I see a bay , a wide bay , smooth as glass and polished like ice , shimmering in the dark . A red light burns far off upon the gloom of the land , and the night is soft and warm .