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The Whirlpool (Introduction Only)

…ves is the flowered marble. We find such rime-webs as abaaab-babbba and AaBCcAaBCcAaBC and bAbAcBcBAcCDaADA, more exquisite than all the arabesques of the Alhambra. The limpidity of thought and expression alike is the aquamarine of the pool: "Like foam-flowers falling from the breasts of Sleep their Lotus-kiss is," languid as Sappho writhing to the breeze of Leucadia, under a rain of roseleaves. The hot angry famine and pestilence of the soul is the sulphur of the spring and the poisonous mist that plays upon it. "Come, Love, nor list to tired …