大脑急速运转的速度，比树木、树篱和被远方染白的绿草还要快。比田野和花园中的小水潭还要远?比干草堆、风帆、屋顶和牛群走得更远吗?太阳一出，海的最后边缘就消失了。大海离开了我们，但太阳还在。有时，田野伸展成一块块收割后平整的土地;有时天空和大地被浓密的树木挡住了，窗子的叶子遮住了，我们走过的时候，它们的茎接着茎相互交错着;有时高大的白杨树站在那里，它们的头比远处的小山还高。有时，地面是深绿的;有时是褐色的;有时根本没有土地，因为没有收获的庄稼很结实。水田有时是太阳的全部。 Sometimes quite green through shadows filling them, Or islanded with growths of reeds,?or else Masked in grey dust like the wide face o' the fields. And still the swiftness lasts; that to our speed The trees seem shaken like a press of spears. There is some count of us:?folks travelling-capped, Priesthood, and lank hard-featured soldiery, Females (no women), blouses, Hunt, and I. We are relayed at Amiens. The steam Snorts, chafes, and bridles, like three-hundred horse, And flings its dusky mane upon the air. Our company is thinned, and lamps alight: But still there are the folks in travelling-caps? No priesthood now, but always soldiery, And babies to make up for show in noise, Females (no women), blouses, Hunt, and I. Our windows at one side are shut for warmth; Upon the other side, a leaden sky, Hung in blank glare, makes all the country dim, Which too seems bald and meagre,?be it truth, Or of the waxing darkness. Here and there The shade takes light, where in thin patches stand The unstirred dregs of water. Hunt can see A moon, he says; but I am too far back. Still the same speed and thunder. We are stopped Again, and speech tells clearer than in day. Hunt has just stretched to tell me that he fears I and my note-book may be taken for The stuff that goes to make an ?émissaire De la perfide.? Let me abate my zeal: There is a stout gendarme within the coach. This cursed pitching is too bad. My teeth Jingle together in it; and my legs (Which I got wet at Boulogne this good day Wading for star-fish) are so chilled that I Would don my coat, were not these seats too hard To spare it from beneath me, and were not The love of ease less than the love of sloth. Hunt has just told me it is nearly eight: We do not reach till half-past ten. Drat verse, And steam, and Paris, and the fins of Time! Marry, for me, look you, I will go sleep. Most of them slept; I could not?held awake By jolting clamour, with shut eyes; my head Willing to nod and fancy itself vague. Only at Stations I looked round me, when Short silence paused among us, and I felt A creeping in my feet from abrupt calm. At such times Hunt would jerk himself, and then Tumble uncouthly forward in his sleep. This lasted near three hours. The darkness now Stayeth behind us on the sullen road, And all this light is Paris. Dieu merci. PARIS. Saturday Night, 29. Send me, dear William, by return of post, As much as you can manage of that rhyme Incurred at Ventnor. Bothers and delays Have still prevented me from copying this Till now; now that I do so, let it be Anticipative compensation. Numéro 4 Rue Geoffroy Marie, Faubourg Montmartre, près des Boulevards. Dear William, labelled thus the thing will reach.