To die--oh, who would forget! Even had I been weeping, and
not merely mocking time away, would my tears be of Lethe at my mouth's
corners? No," said Anthea, "why feign and lie? All I am is but a
memory lovely with regret."
She rose, and the myrtles concealed her from me. And I, in the midst
of the dusk where the tiny torches burned sadly--I turned to the
sightless eyes of that smiling god.
What he knew, being blind, yet smiling, I seemed to know then. But
that also I have forgotten.
I whistled softly and clearly into the air, and a querulous voice
answered me from afar--the voice of a grasshopper--Rosinante's.
V
_How should I your true love know
From another one?_
--WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
But even then she was difficult finding, so cunningly had ivy and
blackberry and bindweed woven snares for the trespasser's foot.
But at last--not far from where we had parted--I found her, a pillar
of smoke in the first shining of the moon. She turned large,
smouldering eyes on me, her mane in elf locks, her flanks heaving and
wet, her forelock frizzed like a colt's.
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