Neville's favourite poem for the whole shape of the journey, quoted in about eight lectures (105, 1081, 1119, 1169, 1175, 1229, 1532, 1842) and always for the last two lines. Now first as I shut the door I was alone in the new house, and the wind began to moan. Old at once was the house, and I was old. My ears were teased by the dread of what was foretold. Nights of storm, days of mist without end, sad days when the sun shone in vain. Old griefs and griefs not yet begun. All was foretold me, naught could I foresee, but I learned how the wind would sound after these things should be. He reads it line by line as the incarnation - God enters this world of death, buries himself and shuts the door, and is alone in the new house - and then takes the wind at its scriptural value, since in scripture the wind and the Spirit are one word. The force of the poem for him is in the distinction between being told and knowing: all was foretold me, naught could I foresee. He was told the story, as everyone was told it, and could not envision the wind; and when it comes it is unmistakable - the whole house vibrates like a cyclone, you feel it in you and yet it seems to come from the far corner of the room. So the poem is his answer to the objection that the mystery was always public: you can be given the whole account in advance and still not know one thing about it.