And BROWNING, and HOMER, and MEREDITH, and
OSCAR WILDE are with them, the fleet-footed giants of perennial
youth, like unto the white-limbed Hermes, whom Polyxena once saw, and
straight she hied her away to the vine-clad banks of Ilyssus, where
Mr. PATER stands contemplative, like some mad scarlet thing by DVORAK,
and together they march with the perfect significance of silence
through realms that are cloud-capped with the bright darkness that
shines from the poet's throne amid the stars.
[Stops, and lights a cigarette.
_G._ Oh, beautiful, beautiful! Now indeed I recognise my ERBERT's
voice; and that is--yes, it must be--the scent of the cigarettes you
lately imported. Grant me one, only one. (_Takes one and lights it._)
But what were you talking about?
_E._ (_pinches his cheek_). There you are horrid again. But you smile.
_Je te connais, mon brave._ [Greek: Gignosko se pai] (never mind the
accents). _Ich kenne dich, mein alter._ _Cognosco te, amice._ I know
you, old fellow. You are only chaffing. As if you had not discovered
that which all truly great indolence has taught ever since the first
star looked out and beheld chaotic vastness on every hand.
Pages:
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56