Had not been tutored to perceive? Paul brushed his eyes across his sleeve. Clear-cut, the Shadow on the wall Gleamed black, and never moved at all. Paul's watches were like amulets, Wrought into patterns and rosettes; The cases were all set with stones, And wreathing lines, and shining zones. He knew the beauty in a curve, And the Shadow tortured every nerve With its perfect rhythm of outline Cutting the whitewashed wall. So fine Was the neck he knew he could have spanned It about with the fingers of one hand. The chin rose to a mouth he guessed, But could not see, the lips were pressed Loosely together, the edges close, And the proud and delicate line of the nose Melted into a brow, and there Broke into undulant waves of hair. The lady was edged with the stamp of race. A singular vision in such a place. He moved the candle to the tall Chiffonier; the Shadow stayed on the wall. He threw his cloak upon a chair, And still the lady's face was there. From every corner of the room He saw, in the patch of light, the gloom That was the lady. Her violet bloom Was almost brighter than that which came From his candle's tulip-flame. He set the filigree hands; he laid The watch in the case which he had made; He put on his rabbit cloak, and snuffed His candle out. The room seemed stuffed With darkness. Softly he crossed the floor, And let himself out through the door. The sun was flashing from every pin And wheel, when Paul let himself in. The whitewashed walls were hot with light. The room was the core of a chrysolite, Burning and shimmering with fiery might. The sun was so bright that no shadow could fall From the furniture upon the wall. Paul sighed as he looked at the empty space Where a glare usurped the lady's place. He settled himself to his work, but his mind Wandered, and he would wake to find His hand suspended, his eyes grown dim, And nothing advanced beyond the rim Of his dreaming. The Cardinal sent to pay For his watch, which had purchased so fine a day. But Paul could hardly touch the gold, It seemed the price of his Shadow, sold. With the first twilight he struck a match And watched the little blue stars hatch Into an egg of perfect flame. He lit his candle, and almost in shame At his eagerness, lifted his eyes. The Shadow was there, and its precise Outline etched the cold, white wall. The young man swore, "By God! You, Paul, There's something the matter with your brain. Go home now and sleep off the strain."