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476 Flung their smoke into the laquearia, Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling. Huge sea-wood fed with copper Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone, In which sad light a carvèd dolphin swam. Above the antique mantel was displayed As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale Filled all the desert with inviolable voice And still she cried, and still the world pursues, "Jug Jug" to dirty ears. And other withered stumps of time Were told upon the walls; staring forms Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed. Footsteps shuffled on the stair, Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair Spread out in fiery points Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.

"My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me. Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak. What are you thinking of? What thinking? What? I never know what you are thinking. Think."

I think we are in rats' alley Where the dead men lost their bones.

"What is that noise?" The wind under the door. "What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?" Nothing again nothing. "Do You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember Nothing?" I remember Those are pearls that were his eyes. "Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?" But

But

Gougle