Page:Al Que Quiere.djvu/64

  a north wind,—there below you how easily the long yellow notes of poplars flow upward in a descending scale, each note secure in its own posture—singularly woven.

All voices are blent willingly against the heaving contra-bass of the dark but you alone warp yourself passionately to one side in your eagerness. 

A PORTRAIT IN GREYS

Will it never be possible to separate you from your greyness? Must you be always sinking backward into your grey-brown landscapes—and trees always in the distance, always against a grey sky? Must I be always moving counter to you? Is there no place where we can be at peace together and the motion of our drawing apart be altogether taken up? I see myself standing upon your shoulders touching 