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… about? PERCY. I write about all the horrible things I see, and try to find beauty in them, or to make beauty; and I write about all the beautiful things I only dream of. I love them all ; yes, even that woman yonder.
… the desire for vengeance. So far have I risen, but not far enough to forget that you are the most abominable villain that plagues God’s beautiful world with his infesting life. BRANDON [wth sudden calmness]. This to his father! What does the Bible say, you wretch ? PERCY [fo Vaughan}. I will go, my true new father. Kiss Esmé for me a hundred times ! BRANDON [suddenly breaking from the Footmen]. Damn you; that’s your game, is it? No, you go with me, Sir Poet. [Rushing at his son, strikes. Percy, warding off the unexpected blow, staggers. Brando…
…o me all night, not his voice only, but a deeper voice that I understood so well as I never understood, a voice like his poem, only more beautiful even than that, and I can’t remember one word, only that he kissed me all the night; and there was as it were a vapour, an incense- cloud, about me, and I could not see—and I am so happy. VAUGHAN. Esmé, I am here, your father. ESME, Ah! it comes back. He is dead. Oh, God! Oh, God! And we were to have been married a month to-day. . VAUGHAN. And he left the poem and could not finish it. ESME [ pointing…
…s un- easily, and after a little wakes up with a start and @ Cry. PERCY. H! I had such a bad dream. I dreamt I was straining out after a beautiful bird, and suddenly it stopped, and then I held it in my hands, and it was happy, and then I dropped down somehow into the darkness and the bird had gone—only it got so con- fused, and I woke up. I hear steps! ESME [22 corridor]. Did you call, Percy? I heard a cry as if you were in pain. | PERCY. Esmé, I will come and talk to you in the moon- light. I want to say something that I couldn’t say before, …
…er. is so frail and white, and she ¢< understands. sees my soul, and Heaven is, always open to her eyes when she looks up, and she is so beautiful. Will it seem long, Esmé, till we kiss again beyond the moon there—it is the moon, isn’t it, come to see that Esme¢ is not too sad about my dying? Be kind to her ‘always, moon, when I am gone beyond you! You must finish my poem, Esmé; there is only a little todo. Kiss me the last time! Good-bye, my dear friends, I wish I could take your hands, but I am so weak. Kiss me, Esmé, quickly. I fee] the voic…