Улисс

           Yetachancewordwillcallthemforthsuddenlyandtheywillriseuptoconfronthiminthemostvariouscircumstances,avisionoradream,orwhiletimbrelandharpsoothehissensesoramidthecoolsilvertranquilityoftheeveningoratthefeast,atmidnight,whenheisnowfilledwithwine.Nottoinsultoverhimwillthevisioncomeasoveronethatliesunderherwrath,notforvengeancetocuthimofffromthelivingbutshroudedinthepiteousvestureofthepast,silent,remote,reproachful.

           Thestrangerstillregardedonthefacebeforehimaslowrecessionofthatfalsecalmthere,imposed,asitseemed,byhabitorsomestudiedtrick,uponwordssoembitteredastoaccuseintheirspeakeranunhealthiness,aflair,forthecruderthingsoflife.Ascenedisengagesitselfintheobserver’smemory,evoked,itwouldseem,byawordofsonaturalahomelinessasifthosedayswerereallypresentthere(assomethought)withtheirimmediatepleasures.AshavenspaceoflawnonesoftMayevening,thewellrememberedgroveoflilacsatRoundtown,purpleandwhite,fragrantslenderspectatorsofthegamebutwithmuchrealinterestinthepelletsastheyrunslowlyforwardovertheswardorcollideandstop,onebyitsfellow,withabriefalertshock.