Elegy for Wuthering Heights
“The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o’er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.”
The closing bell bids adieu to market hopes and dreams. And lemmings rush headlong over the edge in irrational exuberance to depths I fear not seen for twenty years, before we’re done. From lofty heights to pissant lows. But as the darkness round us creeps, there is a faint and flickering flame that offers hope, when 12 months hence, even the weakest should beat their year-ago numbers without breaking a sweat.
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