handful of earth; of for all untellable earth, but only a word he has won, pure, the yellow and blue gentian. Are we, perhaps, here just for saying: House, Bridge, Fountain, Gate, Jug, Fruit tree, Window, - possibly: Pillar, Tower?... but for saying , remember, oh, for such saying as never the things themselves hoped so intensely to be. Is not the secret purpose of this sly Earth, in urging a pair of lovers, just to make everything leap with ecstasy in them? Threshold: what does it mean to a pair of lovers, that they should be wearing their own worn threshold a little, they too, after the many before, before the many to come,... as a matter of course! Here is the time for the Tellable, here is its home. Speak and proclaim. More than ever things we can live with are falling away, for that which is oustingly taking their place is an imageless act. Act under crusts, that will readily split as soon as the doing within outgrows them and takes a new outline. Between the hammers lives on our heart, as between the teeth the tongue, which, in spite of all, still continues to praise. Praise this world to the Angel, not the untellable: you can't impress him with the splendour you've felt; in the cosmos where he more feelingly feels you're only a novice. So show him some simple thing, refashioned by age after age, till it lives in our hands and eyes as a