"O Love, they rest in peace whom ocean covers!"
One plunge, one clasp supernal, one long kiss!
Then downward, like those old Italian lovers.
Descend for ever through the long abyss,
And float together, happy, all eternity like this!
The charm of the reader's voice had held us spellbound, and the poem
was well received; but after the usual compliments there was a pause,
and then Ideala burst out impetuously: "I am sick of those old Italian
lovers," she said; "they float into everything. Their story is the
essence with which two-thirds of our love literature is flavoured. We
should never have received them in society; why do we tolerate them in
books? I like my company to be respectable even there; and when an
author asks me to admire and sympathise with such people he insults
me."
"They must be brought in, though, for the sake of contrast," somebody
observed.
"They should be kept in their proper place, then," she answered. "You
may choose what you please to point a moral, but for pity's sake be
careful about what you use to adorn a tale."
"Moral or no moral," said the young sculptor, "I think a new poem of
any kind a thing to be thankful for.
Pages:
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97