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15539And the chairs, & the tables & the books, & the silvery saucepans in rows onthe shelf, how long would they endure, & of what nature were they?& And & Given over to us the Were they, too, of the substance ofwind & rain, allies, with whom in the darkness, wind & raincould commune?But passing among the sleepers who surely& one mustthere must be doubt.Everything else can tarnish & perish, isdissolved again; here remains here but not there. And onewould say to the grey airs of midnight, & the wandering gleamswhich of moonlight, of light which waves up the wall &across the ceiling, phantom soft, how they had no power tosmooth, to obliterate, to destroy touch, or to destroy, upon which,wearily, ghostlily, as if they had feather-light fingers, && thelight persistencyof feathers,could phantom could disappear & come again, so now, theywould fold their light garments, a sigh, & die away, havinglooked upon eyes shut eyes, & fingers loosely closed. They wouldnow betake themselves to the staircase, for exam to the windowfor example; they would nose & rub & fumble the pane;descending, ruffle the light cloaks in the hall, &then meditate how to chill the apples in the plate on thedining room table. Grey dew might bead their round redness, -their roundness crinkle, soften, & be stained turn brown.As for the th if They tried the picture on the easel inthe drawingroom, they brushed the matt. They blew along aalonglittle sand.Reaching the roses, the great in thewhite jar, with its swelling sides, & its blue strain, likethe blue of skimmed milk they tried here too - howto nip petal from petal, how to loose the fibrescloud thecolourssap the firmness & tak tinge the clear pallor, withmud & stain & blotch.Then,Now, gathering into achorus, where centre as if all this prying & peeringwere alien to but the work of spies, detached from