Have you seen my
book, "Three Quatrains"?
Denham.
No; have you published it lately?
Vane.
My dear Denham! I never _publish_ anything. In a wilderness of
mediocrity obscurity is fame.
Denham.
Yes, a well-advertised obscurity. But surely you _have_ published
poems?
Vane.
Where have you lived, my dear fellow? I breathe a poem into the air,
and the world hears. If some one prints it, can I help it? One does
not print, wake, and become famous; one becomes famous, and the
world awakes, cackles, and prints one.
Fitzgerald.
By-the-bye, Vane, there's a quatrain in your "In the House of
Hathor" I wanted to ask you about.
Vane.
Which?
Fitzgerald.
Let me see--it begins:
"I saw a serpent in my Lady's heart,"--
Vane.
Ah! spare me the torment of hearing--
Fitzgerald.
Your own lines?
Vane.
_Mur_-dered!
"I saw the serpent of my Lady's heart,
Lovely and leprous; and a violet sigh
Shook the wan, yellowing leaves of threnody,
Bruised in the holy chalice of my Art."
Fitzgerald.
Ah yes! I didn't quite catch the meaning.
Vane.
Meaning? It is a piece of _mu_-sic, in which I have skilfully
e-_lu_-ded ALL _meaning_.
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