Various, The Yale Literary Magazine (Vol…
“ With the feel of that soft arm in silks under my hand, forgotten was Rabnon, and the inn, and the crowd. I picked her lightness up; people were about me, but I shouted, “Make way,” and we two were soon alone by the spring in the courtyard. I was bathing her face with her own small handkerchief, and sobbing. “At last! I have touched you at last, you whom I have seen in so many guises, and who have escaped my grasp as often as you have eluded my pen. Oh, perfection! It cannot be that you are a part of my dreams, for there is nothing within me as perfect as you. ”
