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(1Mae co m es to t h e ha U e nt ra, nce, looks t h o ug htfully at LO?'·re, then a t t h e t w o ha ts resting on t he hall t a b le. Ha ing n a cle h e r decision, she t u rns i m.p u lsively . )

MAE : Let's go i n fou r week . I t won't b e o warm, then.

(As the c urtain fa Us, Mae cid a nces with outs t retched m·m s t o Lon·e , w h o st?'. l l ga� es a t t h e cei l i n g a nd s m okes. )

FINIS N AR " ISSUS The pool lie i n b reath le expectanc) , not a ripple marring its sur­ face. In sympathetic eagernes the willow by the brink bend every sil­ vered leaf, and approaching twilight has hushed the oice of the forest. N a rcissus bend t o h i image in the m irroring waters. '.I'o touch this ision ! H e is o clo e and h e would take it to hi bosom if he could. Too that if h i b reath fall too bea i ly upon it, it v. i l l anish v ell he knov. utterly. If h e could but ta) av. ay he need n ot feel this poignancy of inter­ m i ngled j oy and torture. B ut h e canno stay awa ! *

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The ound of a u niver e a re t illed and the spirits of a l l the earth l i sten i n a silence u rcharged with emotion. The cour e of the ages stands for a moment, for a m other comes clo e t o the heart of her child and 'Che child is a quiet pool of welcome. How nea r ! The g reat noise of battle fade awa - and are not hea rd. The fate of nations attends, for in the grim ten ion of battle two oldier-pal almo t enter one i nto the heart of the other. Almo t ! The poignant pit of the g u lf. I f we would dull that feeling of frustration and would not ense the gulf, we m ust needs dwell apart i n spi rit, never d rawing clo e t o 'Che heart of our fellows. B ut ·we cannot sta awa ! HOURS B E FO R E DAWN S p ray, Z ipping again t dark rocks, deep-groo ed By the gnashing of angered, h ungry wa\ es, Foiled by their buh ark Through n umberless eons. Sky, Sleepily buo) ing on its soft bo om P roud-sa iling pirate clouds. Winging away In the dawning. H o u rs before dawn Had h idden the whole of this glor , E xcept the kiss of wind and the splash of wa\ es ; But somehow, J u t the feel of the wind on my cheek Wa ec tasy u preme. M. R. Two hundred fiftee'TI

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Oracle 1927  

Oracle 1927