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[Page 3]
that paints vividly and with precious beauty. Of this light the Day with all the sky and changes of the sky is made. And when Day dies Night, with her own rich jewels ablaze upon her breast, carries the faded splendor and pallid loveliness of it as [part?] her own across the heavens in her jealous arms. At dawn the Eastern segment of the sky is like to the expanding of a rose. Later in the day but before noon the over-reaching dome is a perfect blue and as clear as a bell while where its lower vastness shuts down round the rim of the earth the blue is marred and thickened with a faded darkness as though there existed the colossal shadow of Time as a background to the world. This weird sense of shadow in the elements of day is vibrant as though with the infinite tremors of a thousand occult pulses that seem to be no less eternal than Time while throbbing out the impenetrable