Volume VII - Modernist Magazines Project

20 A Seventh-story Heavengases, is like trying to smoke a cigar without first cutting off theend—and O, to hear again their merry song as they writhed intorment in the hissing pan, like Christian martyrs raising hymnsof praise from the very core of Smithfield fires.Meanwhile, the poet would be surpassing himself in the settingoutof the little table, cutting up the bread reverently as thoughit were for an altar—as indeed it was—studying the effect of thedish of tomatoes now at this corner, now at that, arranging theflowers with even more care than he arranged the adjectives in hissonnets, and making ever so sumptuous an effect with that half-apoundof grapes.And then at last the little feast would begin, with a long graceof eyes meeting and hands clasping ; true eyes that said " howgood it is to behold you, to be awake together in this dream oflife" ; true hands that said " I will hold you fast for ever—notdeath even shall pluck you from my hand, shall loose this bondof you and me " ; true eyes, true hands, that had immortal meaningsfar beyond the speech of mortal words.And it had all come out of that dull history of socialism, andhad cost little more than a crown ! What lovely things can bemade out of money ! Strange to think that a little silver coin ofno possible use or beauty in itself can be exchanged for so muchtangible beautiful pleasure. A piece of money is like a piece ofopium, for in it lie locked up the most wonderful dreams—if youhave only the brains and hearts to dream them.When at last the little feast grew near its end, Love and Beautywould smoke their cigarettes together ; and it was a favouritetrick of theirs to lower the lamp a moment, so that they mightsee the stars rush down upon them through the skylight whichhung above their table. It gave them a sense of great sentinels,far away out in the lonely universe, standing guard over them,that