morning, midday
I lay motionless , looking up with worship in my heart . As suddenly she vanished . I lay far into the twilight , and then rose and went home , half bewildered , with a sense of heaven about me which settled into the fancy that my mother had come to see me . I wondered afterwards that I had not followed her ; but I never forgot her , and , morning , midday , or evening , whenever the fit seized me , I would wander away and lie down in the hollow , gazing at the spot where the lovely face had arisen , in the fancy , hardly in the hope , that my moon might once more arise and bless me with her vision . Hence I suppose came another habit of mine , that of watching in the same hollow , and in the same posture , now for the sun , now for the moon , but generally for the sun . You might have taken me for a fire-worshipper , so eagerly would I rise when the desire came upon me , so hastily in the clear grey of the morning would I dress myself , lest the sun should be up before me , and I fail to catch his first lance-like rays dazzling through the forest of grass on the edge of my hollow world . Bare-footed I would scud like a hare through the dew , heedless of the sweet air of the morning , heedless of the few bird-songs about me , heedless even of the east , whose saffron might just be burning into gold , as I ran to gain the green hollow whence alone I would greet the morning .