eats nor speaks.
Opposite her, across the narrow table, is a wall of
curious faces, lookers-on--children and half-grown
boys, beggars and what-not--the gleanings
of the streets.
They are quiet but they watch hungrily.
To-night, when the bridegroom draws the scarlet curtains
of the bed, they will still be watching
hungrily....

Strange, formless memories out of books struggle upward
in my consciousness. This is the marriage
at Cana.... I am feasting with the Caliph
at Bagdad.... I am the wedding guest who
beat his breast....
My heart is troubled.
What shall be said of blood-brotherhood between man
and man?

Wusih


The Beggar

_Christ! What is that--that--Thing?
Only a beggar, professionally maimed, I think._

Across the narrow street it lies, the street where little
children are.
It is rocking its body back and forth, back and forth,