Albert Schweitzer: An Anthology

Albert Schweitzer: An Anthology

Albert Schweitzer: An Anthology

Albert Schweitzer: An Anthology

Excerpt

The poetry of Africa!

Before the window against a bright blue sky a palm tree rises. A light breeze blowing from the river rustles the fronds of it and brings a little soothing refreshment. Goats graze in the newly mown meadow, each of them with a white heron close beside it. It is a peaceful, silent Sunday afternoon. The weaver birds are quiet in the trees overhead, the monkeys have ceased to chatter.

The river below is a mirror. So unruffled is it that one can see in its placid glass not only the white birds and the blue birds that skim over the surface of the water, but also the ospreys that circle high in the air. Each bird is companioned by its bright image in the turbid stream. The huge mass of tree roots, which alone shows where the water meets the land, is covered with a tangle of vines gay with flowers. On the other side the forest rises, the primeval forest, deep, luxuriant, impenetrable, the great living trees mingling with the dead giants of the past. Far in the distance a low line of blue hills rises.

By the window a man sits writing letters to his friends. The small, neat handwriting, like copperplate in its delicacy, contrasts strangely with the size of the man himself. He is a big man, six feet tall; obviously a strong man also. He has a shock of brown hair, turning gray, and a bushy moustache. His deep-set eyes are blue and kindly. They twinkle with . . .

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