The Cavalcade of America, presented by DuFont, maker of better things for better living through chemistry. The Cavalcade of America presents an original play with verse by Norman Watson, Wait for the Morning, interpreting the romance of Emily Dickinson, a New England poet whose lyric voice, speaking for all lovers, left an authentic American imprint upon the literature of the world. To portray the role of Emily Dickinson, we present a talented young actress from our Cavalcade players. Her name is Anne Sarris, and in this, her first starring role, we know you will join the Cavalcade of America in wishing her success. Our Cavalcade orchestra and the original musical score are under the direction of Don Voorhees. DuFont, maker of better things for better living through chemistry, presents Anne Sarris as Emily Dickinson on the Cavalcade of America. Once upon a time, a century ago, or was she forever with us, lived Emily Dickinson. She was a little sad and a little happy, and left a record of her heart for all to read. A century ago, Emily, dressed in gray, seated at her desk in her lonely house, with the tall trees whispering their secrets upon the roof, and the wind blowing, the endless wind through the trees. Emily with her small, beautiful face, with her eyes turned inward upon her soul, Emily's voice with the quality of angels. How long I have not seen your face, and though it is not far, can the heart compute in distances its longing for a star? Oh, joy, how can I blow upon the little fires of memory, making them burn again even now? Even in this late year. Listen how the wind, the same green wind, returns again to the trees that stand guard about this empty house. Soon it will be spring again, April, the month of flowers. Oh, George, George, it was April when we met, wasn't it? I write this letter to you through tears. But I know I will never send it. It is late now for passion. Only remembrance is left for us. Will even of us ever forget that day long ago when I went walking through the forest, telling my poems to the wind and the sky, and I felt somehow that God too was listening? Kato, Kato, come back here. Oh, you poor dog. You want to talk, don't you? You want to tell me how lovely it is here in the forest. You'd like to describe it, wouldn't you? Well, I'll say it for you. Where does the sunset go at night? How does the morning feel so light and always very new? Tell me how quick the dawn awaits. Tell me from where the painted tapes his lovely morning blues. Good afternoon. Oh, but where did you? Behind that tree. I wanted to hear how your last rhyme would come out. Oh, I see. And? It came out fine. Now, there's perhaps a little polishing on that poem. I'm very sorry, but you'll have to excuse me. Oh, you're not leaving. Please don't. If you'll stay, I'll introduce myself and explain myself. Do you live in that tree all the time? Oh, I know. You were hermits? No, you see... He must be a literary critic who's lost his way. Well, I'm... Yes, you are. I can tell by your confused expression. All critics have it. And it's really nothing to be ashamed of. Now, hold on. I can leave Kido here with you. He'll lead you back. Goodbye. Please, one moment, Emily Dickinson. How do you know my name? Well, at least that's a civil question. If you put your dog at ease, you shall be answered. Oh, Kido, damn. He's awfully harmless until he bites. His suit is the only one I have. And Kido wouldn't do it any good. I'm sorry. I take it all back about you being a critic. And I take back that snipe against your poem. You write? Not poetry. I'm studying for the ministry. You must be a poet, then, to study God. May I call you Emily? Where are you from? The Academy, across the lake. You're not allowed here, you know. Well, I'm here. I could report you. I could return tomorrow. And then you'd only have to report me all over again. Well, I won't report you. Then I'll return tomorrow. I'll be back. I'll be back. I'll be back. I'll be back. I'll be back. I'll return tomorrow. I can't promise to be here. We could meet and read together. I'd like to hear whatever you've written. I'd like to sit under the trees and listen to you read, Emily. My name is George Gould. Are you going to report me? No, George Gould. Not for a while. And one thing more, young ladies. Remember to conduct yourselves with propriety as befitting the gentlewomen of this school. No one is to leave the grounds without permission. Furthermore, we definitely discourage students of the Mount Holyoke Female Seminary from going on sleigh rides with boys from the academy. Dismissed. Miss Dickinson, would you please stay? Emily, it has come to my attention that you're taking walks outside the grounds, unchaperoned. Well, you see, I go to the woods to collect flowers. And meanwhile, your interest in the school's social functions has been generally neglectful. Everyone has turned in the name of an escort for the school dance, but you? What have you to say? Come now, Emily, don't stand there. Well, I didn't think I'd... Have you an escort? Well, yes. I have, yes. His name is Mr. George Gould. Quiet. Go ahead, Emily. Read it all. Quiet. Sir, better known as George Gould. Meet me at sunrise or sunset or the new moon, the places immaterial, in gold or in purple or sackcloth, in sunshine or storm, in heaven or earth, somehow or no how. I propose, sir, to have you escort me to our dance. He won't come, not with that invitation. You'll be frightened away. I would. I thought divinity students didn't even dance the quadrille. And especially those who wear patched trousers. What's wrong with patched trousers? What if he hasn't any gentleman's clothes? He's... Oh, get out, all of you. Well, Miss Dickinson, we are surprised. We hardly suspect. George, you'll understand my letter. I don't care what they say. And you will come. You will come. And the biggest surprise of all, George, was your dancing. I had no idea. Emily, are you very cold? Could you stand here for a moment while I ask you something? What is it, George? I... Well, I know you for some time now. Yes. Well, you see, after I leave school, after you leave school... Yes, we'll both be leaving, won't we? That's exactly my point. We'll both be leaving. George, I'm cold standing still. We'd better walk. Emily. Yes? Let's keep on walking, no matter what I say. Oh, it's really a glorious evening. The stars seem frozen in a large blue lake. Since I'll be leaving in a few weeks, I thought I'd ask... The air itself has a kind of snowflake taste to it. Emily, will you please listen? Oh, George, you do look as if you've been wanting to say something. Yes, I do. Will you marry me? Don't shout, George. Stop walking for a moment. Well, you told me to keep on walking, no matter what you said. Well, hold on. I want to kiss you. Oh. Oh, once I told myself I shouldn't have. Once it's over, you needn't worry at all. I wouldn't. It's so good to tell what's in my heart. as long as father doesn't listen. George is coming to meet father. He said it's proper. And what else? Tell me what else. You're holding back. You'll know it yourself someday, darling. A huge weight on your heart. And the whole thing like sunlight riding over a storm. And it carries you high. Why, Emily, you will? Father. What's the cause of such unnatural description in the fore supper, hmm? I hope the scheduled arrival of your visitor isn't a blame. Vinnie, go down and help prepare. Yes, father. Farewell, Emily. LaVinia. Don't prattle so with your romantic nonsense after dinner. Now go. Hi, Emily child. You're dressed so brightly for this friend of yours whose tardiness, I might add, doesn't speak too well for his character. Oh, I'm sure he'll be along shortly. Tell me, my dear. We don't seem to talk as much as we used to. Oh, school's been so exciting. So many new ideas. So many friends. Not too many friends are hardly a virtue. No, but it's so exciting being away from home. Away from home. You like that, huh? Well, yes, father. I mean... Child. I'm a lonely man. This house is very lonely when you're not in it. Who's Vinnie? No. You were the first. You have your mother's face. It's your laughter I need. Your footstep on the stairs. He's here. Father, please be nice to him at supper. Please. He's come especially to meet you. Then I shall act on him. Take my arm, then, then. That's our favorite out-to-supper piece, Mr. Gould. Doesn't it remind you of Romeo and Juliet? Sort of. The balcony scene. Lavinia, stop winding that ridiculous toy. Yes, papa. After supper, we generally smoke as a garb. Yes, we all do. I mean... I mean, father. The problem of raising two daughters, Mr. Gould, is comparable to the launching of one warship. I should say to that, sir, you've launched a fine one. Someday, father, when women are allowed to vote, you won't be calling them warships. And so, farewell. I'm late for my dancing lesson. Au revoir, Monsieur Gould. Good night. Remember to be in by nine. Don't worry a bit, father. I'm being escorted by girls, which is no fun at all. The time is coming when a woman's place will not be in the home. Won't work. On the contrary, sir. It might work very well. Society needs the contribution of all, man or woman. But George is going to be a very modern minister. That's right. You see, I plan to travel first. Good. Good, yes. Travel is a fine thing. It takes one away from silly temptations. It's sensible to be alone when you're young. Yes. But the point is, sir, I don't intend to go alone. You see, I'd like to take your daughter. That is... Young man, aren't you somewhat over adventurous? Yes, sir. No, sir. I want to marry Emily. Emily? You want to marry Emily? I do. I forbid you to mention it. But I came here expressly to mention it. George, please. Mr. Gould, your presumptuousness is out of place with your divinity. Divinity be hanged. Mr. Dickinson, I am in love with your daughter. And you, Emily? Come, talk. Yes, father. Surely there's more to it than yes, father. Come, what's between you? Speak. George, please leave. Father's upset. Let me ask just how you intend to support my daughter. Will God assure you of food and warmth? I think not. That's blasphemy. Die in truth, too. I think it's time for me to leave. Good day, sir. And Emily, I'll be back. Father. Child, don't hurt me this way. But I can't send him from me. I mustn't. No, father. No. For a little while only. A little while. I need your heart, your warm heart to comfort me in this lonely house. I might have put my heart away and seal it with a chain and let no hand touch it except that it be mine. Who is to take my honest eyes and introduce his own? No one to teach me of love. I must learn alone. Oh, there you are, Emily. I was just going upstairs to call you. Oh, Emily, my dear. George. I suppose I have to go now. I always have to leave when I'd like most to stay. Your sister almost proposed to me as I proposed to you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Oh, I'm sorry. Please don't say you love me. No, that isn't the same thing. I would rather pray for you if you drink me down. I love you. I'm sorry about that. I let you down, and now you've been denying me again. I'm going abroad. I can't go with you now, George. Father's in poor health. Are we to wait until his life runs out? Don't. Don't let's talk about it. We mustn't think that way. We must not talk. We must not think everything not. Tell me you'll come back later. I do need you. I do love you. Remember that night, standing in the brown leaves, when I first kissed you? Yes. May I again? Yes, George. Again and forever. The End Male man. Another letter for you, Miss Emily. Some foreign place again, tell by the stamp. Must be nice to have a friend that travels. Excuse me, I'll take the letter, please. Well, here I've been holding it in my hands all the time. Well, good day, Miss Emily. Good day. From you, George. Your voice again from across the sea. My dearest Emily, I've not heard from you yet. The seasons pass into one another. Horizons change. Italy is very beautiful. Crossing the mountains, one truly felt the nearness of God. But there is no nearness of Emily. Why have you not written these past years? My good friend, my dear, what has happened? I may be returning within another year. Always in your garden, Emily. Morning till sunset. Thought I heard you talking to yourself the other day. I was talking to the flowers, Father. I told them the cold is coming again, and it is time to die. The green and yellow and purple must all lie down together. And winter with its white death will cover them all. You're very strange, you're late. Am I? Excuse me, I'd like to go inside now, Father. Emily, where are you going? Upstairs. It's always upstairs. Know what I hope? I hope Father dies. No, Vinnie, don't say it. Emily, I want to tell you something. Yes? Mr. Gould, George, he's coming back. Yes? To the new church right here in Amherst. Thank you for telling me, Vinnie. And he's married. Married? I'll stay here with you and I'll copy your verses, and we'll always remain together in this house, always. Vinnie, dear sister. I read about it. You'd have found out. Yes. I must see him again. Emily! To see him again. To hear his voice. I must. I must. A lovely sermon, Mr. Gould. You delivered it so beautifully. We're so glad you're with us here at Amherst. I believe Mr. Gould will be pleased. I'm sure he will. I'm sure he will. I'm sure he will. I'm sure he will. I'm sure he will. I'm sure he will. I'm sure he will. I'm sure he will. I'm sure he will. I believe, Mr. Gould, we're very fortunate to have you. Thank you. It was simply glorious, Mr. Gould. Simply glorious. Thank you. Thank you very much. George. Emily. Yes. It is Emily. How proud I am of you. In your new work. Emily. You're still beautiful. And older. A little. Yes. And older. Both of us. Now that I'm here, I hardly know what to say. Your father? Alive. And your poetry? That's a minor thing. Emily. What have we done with our lives? Don't speak of it, please. We've wandered from each other, like children. We must forget. We must. I've traveled the earth to forget. Only to return again. You've been gone for a long time. What can I say now? If hearts were but doors to open and shut, and then open again... George, I cannot listen. There is time. And time for us. Let me take your hand. I'm afraid I must say goodbye now. Emily. Time has passed our star. And we cannot call it back. Perhaps one day. One his great day. We will return to our long ago father. And never be lost again. I wait for the morning. These are thoughts you will never receive, George. It's time to go. But still I sit here, alone in my room, and send them to you. May I tell you something, my dears? And imagine you're here with me, listening. Time will close these lips and eyes, and seal them up with stone. Then these bones you may bury, lower me gently down. As I give up the keys to death, his prisoner to be, I ask your hand upon my heart, that I might easily die. Such was the love story of Emily Dickinson. From the pain and beauty of her life, flowed an imperishable song, part of the voice of America. Not perhaps in the great frontier tradition, but of the quiet flowering of the spirit, which neither time nor traffic can ever erase from this history. And for her genius, which contributed to the artistic mural of our nation, Emily Dickinson takes an honored place in the cavalcade of America. Our congratulations and our thanks to Anne Sterrett for her portrayal of Emily Dickinson and to the cavalcade players for their performance of Norman Roston's Wait for the Morning. And now the star of next week's program, John Deere, and the great and the great and the great and the great ladies and gentlemen next week's cavalcade play is about a man who should have been everybody's grandfather, Benjamin Franklin, not the signer of the Declaration or the great diplomat, but an amusing story told in a whimsical radio drama, Dr. Franklin Takes it Easy, which highlights some of the good doctors' amazing inventions during the early days of our country. Once more, I am happy to portray the role of Dr. Franklin when Cavalcade comes to you again next week. Thank you. For assistance in the preparation of our play, we wish to acknowledge with thanks the biography of Emily Dickinson written by Genevieve Tigert, the life and mind of Emily Dickinson. On the Cavalcade of America, your announcer is Clayton Collier, sending best wishes from DuPont.
