THE TRIMMED LAMP
and rills. Bob felt her hands quiver in his as he began the verse from old Omar:
“Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way.
To fly—and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing!”
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way.
To fly—and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing!”
And then he walked to the table and poured a stiff drink of Scotch into a glass.
But in that moment a mountain breeze had somehow found its way in and blown away the mist of the false Bohemia.
Jessie leaped and with one fierce sweep of her hand sent the bottle and glasses crashing to the floor. The same motion of her arm carried it around Bob’s neck, where it met its mate and fastened tight.
“Oh, my God, Bobbie—not that verse—I see now. I wasn’t always such a fool, was I? The other one, boy—the one that says: ‘Remould it to the Heart’s Desire.” Say that one—‘to the Heart’s Desire.’”
“I know that one,” said Bob. “It goes:
“‘Ah! Love, could you and I with Him conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire
Would not we—’”
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire
Would not we—’”
“Let me finish it,” said Jessie.
“‘ Would not we shatter it to bits—and then
Remould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire!’”
Remould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire!’”
[40]
