w his sword, made passes as if he
were stabbing something to death, and cried, 'Mad! Mad! Mad!' Whereupon
I screamed, and the Prince, who was writing in the large vellum book in
the oriel window, came out in his velvet skull-cap and furred slippers,
snatched a rapier from the wall--the King of Spain's gift, you know--on
which I escaped, flinging on this cloak to hide the ravages to my
skirt--to hide.... But listen! the horns!"

The gentleman replies so fast to the lady, and she runs up the scale
with such witty exchange of compliment now culminating in a sob of
passion, that the words are indistinguishable though the meaning is
plain enough--love, laughter, flight, pursuit, celestial bliss--all
floated out on the gayest ripple of tender endearment--until the sound
of the silver horns, at first far distant, gradually sounds more and
more distinctly, as if seneschals were saluting the dawn or proclaiming
ominously the escape of the lovers.... The green garden, moonlit pool,
lemons, lovers, and fish are all dissolved in the opal sky, across
which, as the horns are joined by trumpets and supported by clarions
there rise white arches firmly planted on marble pillars.... Tramp and
trumpeting. Clang and clangour. Firm establishment. Fast foundations.
March of myriads. Confusion and chaos trod to earth. But this city to
which we travel has neither stone nor marble; hangs enduring; stands
unshakable; nor does a face, nor does a flag greet or welcome. Leave
then to perish your hope; droop in the desert my joy; naked advance.
Bare are the pillars; auspicious to none; casting no shade; resplendent;
severe. Back then I fall, eager no more, desiring only to go, find the
street, mark the buildings, greet the applewoman, say to the maid who
opens the door: A starry night.

"Good night, good night. You go this way?"

"Alas. I go that."

BLUE & GREEN

GREEN

The pointed fingers of glass hang downwards. The light slides down the
glass, and drops a pool of green. All day long the ten fingers of the
lustre drop green upon the marble. The feathers of parakeets--their
harsh cries--sharp blades of palm trees--green, too; green needles
glittering in the sun. But the hard glass drips on to the marble; the
pools hover above the dessert sand; the camels lurch through them; the
pools settle on the marble; rushes edge them; weeds clog them; here and
there a white blossom; the frog flops over; at night the stars are set
there unbrok