Icamehereonewinter’sdaywhenthemiddaysunshonehotonthebricksoftheRomanroad。Iwasweary，andthewayseemedsteep。Iwalkedintothechapeltothebrokenwindow，andlookedoutacrossthebay。Faroff，acrosstheblue，bluewater，weretownsandvillages，hangingwhiteandreddots，uponthemountain—sides，andthebluemountainsroseupintothesky，andnowstoodoutfromitandnowmeltedbackagain。
Themountainsseemedcallingtome，butIknewtherewouldneverbeabridgebuiltfromthemtome;never，never，never！Ishadedmyeyeswithmyhandandturnedaway。Icouldnotbeartolookatthem。
IwalkedthroughtheruinedChapel，andlookedattheChristinredcarryinghiscross，andtheBlessedrubbed—outBambino，andtheRomansoldiers，andthefoldedhands，andthereed;andIwentandsatdownintheopenporchuponastone。Atmyfeetwasthesmallbay，withitswhiterowofhousesburiedamongtheolivetrees;thewaterbrokeinalong，thin，whitelineoffoamalongtheshore;andIleanedmyelbowsonmyknees。Iwastired，verytired;tiredwithatirednessthatseemedolderthantheheatofthedayandtheshiningofthesunonthebricksoftheRomanroad;andIlaymyheaduponmyknees;Iheardthebreakingofthewaterontherocksthreehundredfeetbelow，andtherustlingofthewindamongtheolivetreesandtheruinedarches，andthenIfellasleepthere。
Ihadadream。
AmancrieduptoGod，andGodsentdownanangeltohelphim;andtheangelcamebackandsaid，\"Icannothelpthatman。\"