Standing against the snow, a tall Being of beauty. Rattlings of death and rings of muted music make her adorable body rise, expand, and tremble like a ghost. Scarlet and black wounds burst on the proud flesh. Life's own colors darken, dance, and separate to cluster about the Vision in the market place. Shudders rise and scorn the violent taste of these effects, mingling with the death rattles and raucous music which the world, far behind us, hurls at our mother of beauty -- She draws back, she stands erect. Oh, our bones have put on a new amorous body! Oh, the ash-colored face, the horsehair escutcheon, the crystal arms! And the cannon I must fall on, in the battle of trees and light air! |