Ardath by Marie Corelli
page 64 of 769 (08%)
page 64 of 769 (08%)
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He ceased, and looked wistfully out through the window at the
white encircling rim of the opposite snow-mountains, now bathed in the full splendor of noon. Heliobas advanced and laid one hand kindly on his shoulder. ... "And do not forget," he said, "that you have brought with you from the higher regions a Poem that will in all probability make your fame! 'Fame! fame! next grandest word to God!' ... so wrote one of your craft, and no doubt you echo the sentiment! Have you not desired to blazon your name on the open scroll of the world? Well! ... now you can have your wish--the world waits to receive your signature!" "That is all very well!" and Alwyn smiled rather dubiously as he glanced at the manuscript on the table beside him. "But the question is,--considering how it was written,--can I, dare I call this poem MINE?" "Most assuredly you can," returned Heliobas. "Though your hesitation is a worthy one, and as rare as it is worthy. Well would it be for all poets and artists were they to pause thus, and consider before rashly calling their work their own! Self- appreciation is the death-blow of genius. The poem is as much yours as your life is yours--no more and no less. In brief, you have recovered your lost inspiration; the lately dumb oracle speaks again:--and are you not satisfied?" "No!" said Alwyn quickly, with a sudden brightening of his eyes as he met the keenly searching glance that accompanied this question. "No! for I love! ... and the desire of love burns in me as |
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