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And the chairs, & the tables & the books, & the silvery saucepans in rows on
the shelf, how long would they endure, & of what nature were they?
& And & Given over to us the Were they, too, of the substance of
wind & rain, allies, with whom in the darkness, wind & rain
could commune? But passing among the sleepers who surely
there must be doubt. & one must Everything else can tarnish & perish, is
dissolved again; here remains here but not there. And one
would say to the grey airs of midnight, & the wandering gleams
which of moonlight, of light which waves up the wall &
across the ceiling, phantom soft, how they had no power to
smooth, to obliterate, to destroy touch, or to destroy, upon which,
wearily, ghostlily, as if they had feather-light fingers, &
.& the
 light persistency
 of feathers,

could phantom could disappear & come again, so now, they
would fold their light garments, & sigh, & die away, having
looked upon eyes shut eyes, & fingers loosely closed. They would
now betake themselves to the staircase, for exam to the window
for 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 the
dining 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 in
the drawingroom, they brushed the matt.They blew along a
little sandalong. Reaching the roses, the great in the
white jar, with its swelling sides, & its blue stain, like
the blue of skimmed milk they tried here too ¯ how
to nip petal from petal, how to loose the fibres,
sap the firmness & tak tinge the clear pallor, cloud the colours with
mud & stain & blotch. Then, Now, gathering into a
chorus, where centre as if all this prying & peering
were alien to but the work of spies, detached from

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