The edge of the Shadow never blurred.
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e would climb on chairs to reach her lips,And pat her hair with his finger-tips.But instead of young, warm flesh returningHis warmth, the wall was cold and burningLike stinging ice, and his passion, chilled,Lay in his heart like some dead thing killedAt the moment of birth. Then, deadly sick,He would lie in a swoon for hours, while thickPhantasmagoria crowded his brain,And his body shrieked in the clutch of pain.The crisis passed, he would wake and smileWith a vacant joy, half-imbecileAnd quite confused, not being certainWhy he was suffering; a curtainFallen over the tortured mind beguiledHis sorrow. Like a little childHe would play with his watches and gems, with gleeCalling the Shadow to look and seeHow the spots on the ceiling danced prettilyWhen he flashed his stones. "Mother, the greenHas slid so cunningly in betweenThe blue and the yellow. Oh, please look down!"Then, with a pitiful, puzzled frown,He would get up slowly from his playAnd walk round the room, feeling his wayFrom table to chair, from chair to door,Stepping over the cracks in the floor,Till reaching the table again, her faceWould bring recollection, and no solaceCould balm his hurt till unconsciousnessStifled him and his great distress. One morning he threw the street door wideOn coming in, and his vigorous strideMade the tools on his table rattle and jump.In his hands he carried a new-burst clumpOf laurel blossoms, whose smooth-barked stalksWere pliant with sap. As a husband talksTo the wife he left an hour ago,Paul spoke to the Shadow. "Dear, you knowTo-day the calendar calls it Spring,And I woke this morning gatheringAsphodels, in my dreams, for you.So I rushed out to see what flowers blewTheir pink-and-purple-scented soulsAcross the town-wind's dusty scrolls,And made the approach to the Market SquareA garden with smells and sunny air.I feel so well and happy to-day,I think I shall take a Holiday.And to-night we will have a little treat.I am going to bring you something to eat!"He looked at the Shadow anxiously.It was quite grave and silent. HeShut the outer door and cameAnd leant against the window-frame."Dearest," he said, "we live apartAlthough I bear you in my heart.We look out each from a different world.At any moment we may be hurledAsunder. They follow their orbits, weObey their laws entirely.Now you must come, or I go there,Unless we are willing to live the flareOf a lighted instant and have it gone." A bee in the laurels began to drone.A loosened petal fluttered prone. "Man grows by eating, if you eatYou will be filled with our life, sweetWill be our planet in your mouth.If not, I must parch in death's wide drouthUntil I gain to where you are,And give you myself in whatever starMay happen. O You Beloved of Me!Is it not ordered cleverly?" The Shadow, bloomed like a plum, and clear,Hung in the sunlight. It did not hear. Paul slipped away as the dusk beganTo dim the little shop. He ranTo the nearest inn, and chose with careAs much as his thin purse could bear.As rapt-souled monks watch over the bakingOf the sacred wafer, and through the makingOf the holy wine whisper secret prayersThat God will bless this labour of theirs;So Paul, in a sober ecstasy,Purchased the best which he could buy.Returning, he brushed his tools aside,And laid across the table a wideNapkin. He put a glass and plateOn either side, in duplicate.Over the lady's, excellentWith loveliness, the laurels bent.In the centre the white-flaked pastry stood,And beside it the wine flask. Red as bloodWas the wine which should bring the lustihoodOf human life to his lady's veins.When all was ready, all which pertainsTo a simple meal was there, with eyesLit by the joy of his great emprise,He reverently bade her come,And forsake for him her distant home.He put meat on her plate and filled her glass,And waited what should come to pass.
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