Дні мрій
The Magic Ring
Lookhere,we’rethreedesperateyoungfellowswhostickatnothing.Supposewegoofftothecircus?”
Ofcertainsuprememomentsitisnoteasytowrite.Thevaryingshadesandcurrentsofemotionmayindeedbeputintowordsbythosespeciallyskilledthatway;theyoftenare,atconsiderablelength.Butthesheer,crudearticleitself—thestrong,livethingthatleapsupinsideyouandswellsandstranglesyou,thedizzinessofrevulsionthattakesthebreathlikecoldwater—whoshalldepictthisandlive?AllIknewwasthatIwouldhavediedthenandthere,cheerfully,forthefunnyman;thatIlongedforredIndianstospringoutfromthehedgeonthedog-cart,justtoshowwhatIwoulddo;andthat,withallthis,Icouldnotfindtheleastlittlewordtosaytohim.
Haroldwaslesstaciturn.Withshrillvoice,upliftedinsolemnchant,hesangthegreatspheralcircus-song,andtheundyinggloryoftheRing.Ofitstimelessbeginninghesang,ofitsfashioningbycosmicforces,andofitsharmonywiththestellarplan.Ofhorseshesang,oftheirstrength,theirswiftness,andtheirdocilityastotricks.Ofclownsagain,ofthegloryofknavery,andoftheeternaltypethatshallendure.LastlyhesangofHer—theWomanoftheRing—flawless,complete,untrammelledineachsubtlycurvinglimb;earth’shighestoutput,time’snoblestexpression.
