The scene is a country lane With massed banks of primroses and violets A thick thorn hedge behind, White and red butterflies in the air And midges filling the mouth of a low culvert. It is a scene that makes us sad As we try to hold it in our memories, We should be like children and not try to posess [sic] it And that way it will be ours forever. On the grass margin of this country lane The hero of the play who is also the author Sits waiting for something to happen; He knows exactly what he wants to happen And how it should happen And he is convinced that it can happen That it is no mere illusive ideal. That belief is the basis of tragedy Waiting for this other life Which eventually is Eternal Life. A girl comes up, Daughter is a small-town merchant, perfect type Of the best natural selection, tall, full-bosomed - Imagination cloistered in morality. He speaks to her, comments upon the weather. He knows she fits the pattern to a detail; She has the self-sacrificing courage of women Who are less materialistic than is sometimes said. He does not act, he is imprisoned In the chamber of reflection. He must go out and take an interest in people And not be the central character of his play. If what happens to him is also to be important It must be seen as the importance of others. Bring in the girl and let her speak.