And I, the victim of your smiles,
And I, the victim of your wiles,
My vengeance shall prevail.
The river Time shall float you nigh,
And earth and hell your soul shall fly.
And only heaven remain when I
The deed triumphant hail!"
It surprised me to find that Claudia could read those verses to the
end, their import--to me, at least--was so obvious. But Ideala
continued unmoved; and when the little buzz of friendly criticism had
subsided, she remarked, with unimpassioned directness:
"I am quite sure that all my verses are rubbish; but nevertheless they
delight me. I should feel dumb without the power to make verses; it is
a means of expression that satisfies when nothing else will. I always
carry my last about in my pocket. I know them by heart, of course, but
still it is a pleasure to read them; and so it continues until I write
some more; and then I immediately perceive that the old ones are bad,
and I destroy them--when I remember. Those were condemned ages ago, so
please oblige me, Claudia, by putting them into the fire."
Claudia was about to obey, but I interposed.
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