EPISODE

ON a certain hill-side in Attica there stands yet a precint and al
altar of the Heavenly Aprrodite. There a spring pours out from
the face of the rock, and its voice subdues the voice of the
bees. A dusty road passes by the altar's foot, whereby a
cheerful priest sits and sets forth the beauty and worth of
his divinity who comprehends in Herself all love whether of Gods
or Beasts or Man or the tall green growing things, and all shapes
shapes of desire whener it be the passion of a flute-player,
a dancer, or a goat-herd; a mother, a philosopher, or a courtesan
courtesan; the longing of a rose for a bee, of a scientest to com
comprise witain his mind the laws of ultimate being, or an orange
orange tiger for his mate.

All men and women who pass that way the priest
priest hails, demanding of them some word of Her whose mystery
is that of life itself, the mystery of the will that drives all men
to the furtherance of life, and man in his consciousness
to its surpassing. And it has been said that it is a poor
showman who at the booth of his own wares will not beat his drum.
How much more this man having the universe to celebrate should
speak boldly and familiarly of that which is common to all.

The priest seeing certain persons on their
way to follow fortune in the City of the Violet Crown, dipped
a cup into the misty spray out-leaping from the rock's face
and holding it dripping on high cast the water into the dust
at the altar-foot, whereby the dust was stilled. Yet the
stream seemed not decreased by one drop.

Then he began to speak in a voice in a
voice first low, then soaring and eager.

Daughter of Dione, Daughter of Dione,
Here in the wind-thill
Here in the stream-chill
Lighten us, Flower of the Sea!
Down from the shadowless hill
Hymettos that broodeta hover
Bee-haunted, goat-haunted, still.

There's a girl who bears her free,
There's a rank one, sweating he!
By hi one who seems to be
Married virginity.

What a crew for Thee and me
Dione!

Ponderous matron in a whirl,
Tender lad and clinging girl,
(Bless her slender throat of pearl)
But the lad is scarce a man
Paphian!

Down the road I see afar
Brown and keen and curt and free
And an aweless knight of Thee
Student wasted by a star
Urania!

Ho you! gather round Her feet,
Here upon the open street
Make confession without ruth
Burn your shifting lips with truth.

Tell the tale of your desire
Unto Her whose limbs are fleet
Upon the breeze of outer space,
Whose sweat is dew upon a rose,
Whose breath all music, and whose face
The whiteness of eternal fire
Pales as a candle, where She throws
One word a singer comes to birth,
Whose robe is all the Earth.

He beckons one of the company....

Speak out man!

Tell us your tale of the one matchless taing.

There's a girl who bears her free,
There's a rank one, sweating he!
By him one who seems to be
Married virginity.

What a crew for Thee and me,
Dione!

Ponderous matron in a whirl,
Tender lad and clinging girl,
Bless her slender throat of pearl!
(But the lad is scarce a man
Cyprian!)

Down the road I see afar
Brown and keen and curt and free,
And an aweless knight of Thee
Student wasted by a star
Urania!

Ho you! gather round Her Feet,
Here upon the open street
Make confession without ruta
Burn your shifting lips with truth.

Thou dost not ask great subtleties of speech,
Thy mysteries, are plain for plain mens' reach.

I am a plain man, honest and content,
So all Tay ways are clear and to my bent.

(Here murmereta the Priest softly)

An Brother! but your nights have been well-spent.

The brisk young man continues

Goddess Thou art through our mortal lives
Of Love, and most especially of wives,

With all that wives mean, ordered working days
And pleasant (but not fervid nights) and ways

Most honest, waolesome, and reputable,
And children, as they say, a quiver full.

Here the Priest wita difficulty represses a comment.

The brisk young man becomes confidential.

Tell the tale of your desire
Unto Her whose limbs are fleet
Upon the breeze of outer space,
Whose sweat is dew upon a rose,
Whose breath all music, and whose face
The brightness of eternal fire
Pales as a candle, where She throws
One word a singer comes to birth.
Whose robe is all the earth.

Speak out man!

Tell us your tale of the one mateless thing.

Anxious to please, yet determined in no manner to impair his
proper dignity, the brisk young man speaks, and with a sincerity
in itself unaffected makes some slight salutation towards the open
space of air above the altar.

The dawn and evening sun comprised are
In thy perfections great Urania,
As one who straitly fears divinity,
In its appointed sphere, I speak for thee.

He works for both, and she must serve him for
Her share, what could be fairer, its a law

Of Nature, and we men who know it true
Prosper, O Goddess I appeal to You.....

Ah Dione whose feet are on the dew......

Your servant and a plain straight-forward man,
Fair as they go, my way of life I scan.

He falls back. and there is a silence.

Then the clinging maid comes forward softly, fingering the
string of pearls at her tarot.

My little song dutiful

Faltering I cry,

O Thou Most Beautiful.....

(Ah! could I fly)

Mistress I fear Thee for that Thou art so nigh.

Yet lest these sure and admirable joys
Should be too pure for men requiring toys....

(Toys are adorable, O Goddess blest,
Our wives are often shapeless and ill-dressed.)

A lace-girt knee, a slim foot bound in gold
Are marvellous lovely, rosy fold on fold

Shades the dear breasts so snappily, sleepy hair
Swathed round a throat, God, but these things are fair!

The trouble is one can't have both in one,
The wild moon-flower, the seemly flower of sun.

(plaintively)

And after all, a man must have his fun'.

One must have virtue though, and character
Though women, bless their hearts, are different there.

(Firmly)

May more, but every man's his proper right
Over these women, it is clear as light