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Page 105 text:
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L I T E R A T U R E I' She said softly, O silver boy, weep no more. For I have seen your love sorrowing for you. Of courage you need none but a little, since you have only to ask love of your porcelain Ioveliness, and it is yours. The boy looked at her in singing joy, crying, How beautiful is the dayg how beautiful is my love. And he took off a turquoise from his finger and gave it to the brook, kissing her lightly on the lips. Then he hastened to his Life. Sometime later the stream heard of their betrothal, the silver boy and the porcelain maiden. She sighed softly .... Years passed, but the little brook never married the sea. Instead she lived in solitude, polishing her turquoise, and making her diamonds more slowly. She dreamed no longer of her jeweled future, but only of a long dead kiss when she had first known ecstasy. For you see, she also had loved the silver boy. Poor little stream, making diamonds. . . A DREAM john Craven The fog lifted from around her, She stood A thing of mist. I looked And, as I stared, she smiled That smile struck the spark that lighted a thousand stars, I gasped in awe: And that gasp extinguished the light that illuminated that shrine. She stood- A thing of mist- And the fog fell around her. 93
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Page 104 text:
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' L l T E R A T U R E sembled two silver pools, she murmuringly said: Why do you cry, O beau- tiful boy? suppressing a gentle smile with her foam-set handkerchief. l cry because my song is not clear. I weep because my love will have none of me. l am alone, l am helpless, and each sapphire flower weeps with me. This was his answer. Describe her to me, said the little stream, casting misty nets into the air to catch some sunlight for her diamonds. She is lovely beyond all else, he began with a sigh. Her hair is moonlight captured in amber chains. Her eyes are blue as the dragon flies who hover over the lotus ponds in China. Her lips are red as yonder coral waving at your feet, and her arms are as graceful as the ivories of the Sultan. But she is porcelain and l am silver. She is wooed by a handsome prince, and l am only a silver boy.' '... The stream wept a little, for she was a woman and knew. Then she slipped on, and left him sitting on the emerald turf. ln an hour she came to secluded glade where ruby and emerald cast red-green shadows in the sun. And there by her path sat a porcelain maiden, as beautiful as the nymphs that dwell in the sea. The little stream recognized her, and danced up quietly, busily making diamonds to shine in her hair. The maiden was writing love poetry in a silver book, and singing softly to herself. But she was not gay, for her coral lips trembled unhappily. The little stream said, What is the matter, my lovely one? and looked at her kindly. The maiden answered and her voice was as clear as Zephyr blowing on his silver flute. I am sad because my words are not clear. l sigh because my love will have none of me. l am alone, l am helpless, and each sapphire flower weeps with me. This was her reply. Describe him to me, said the little stream, brushing away a tear. 'KHe is handsome beyond all else, the porcelain maiden began with a sob. He is silver as the moonbeam, and for that reason do l wander here at night. His lips, his hair, his arms, are silver. How could I help but love him? And she fled weeping from her place. After she had gone the little brook sat silent for a time, sadly thinking, absent-mindedly making diamonds. Then she began to retrace her jeweled path, first slowly, then more quickly. ln an hour she was once more beside the silver boy, who sat with his silver head in his hands, and with his silver curls around his fingers. 92
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