Page:The Dial (Volume 73).djvu/375

Rh as over me towered the angry turban in the reeling sun, and with a leaf-thin swish of steel, with an irised flash of light on dragon-fly wings, in an arc the scimitar blazed and descended.

But only a dead leaf fell across my neck, for he was nothing but a tall sunflower, a gaunt leering sunflower, whose day was about over, flapping blighted arms in the incense of kindling earth.

The parched grey earth is hot to the bare hands. The dust between the tangled grass stems has a bitter scent.

Would you know your own words now, poet? Would your dust thrill at the sound of them, hear and glow for a little with the old fire?

Listen, it goes like this:

Do you remember that, Roman? You'll not answer, I think. Only the gold silence of the ending afternoon.

The dust between the tangled grass stems has an acrid taste of gall and hellebore.