twelve o’clock
As I walked home through St. James 's Park the dawn was just breaking over London . The white swans were lying asleep on the polished lake , and the gaunt Palace looked purple against the pale-green sky . I thought of Cyril Graham , and my eyes filled with tears . IT was past twelve o'clock when I awoke , and the sun was streaming in through the curtains of my room in long slanting beams of dusty gold . I told my servant that I would be at home to no one ; and after I had had a cup of chocolate and a _ petit-pain _ , I took down from the book-shelf my copy of Shakespeare 's Sonnets , and began to go carefully through them . Every poem seemed to me to corroborate Cyril Graham 's theory . I felt as if I had my hand upon Shakespeare 's heart , and was counting each separate throb and pulse of passion .