My belief is that if we live another century or so — I am talking of the common life which is the real life and not of the little separate lives which we live as individuals — and have five hundred a year each of us and rooms of our own; if we have the habit of freedom and the courage to write exactly what we think; if we escape a little from the common sitting-room and see human beings not always in their relation to each other but in relation to reality; and the sky$$$ too$$$ and the trees or whatever it may be in themselves; if we look past Milton's bogey$$$ for no human being should shut out the view; if we face the fact$$$ for it is a fact$$$ that there is no arm to cling to$$$ but that we go alone and that our relation is to the world of reality and not only to the world of men and women$$$ then the opportunity will come and the dead poet who was Shakespeare's sister will put on the body which she has so often laid down.