And in the garden the flowers began
to sing and the fountain tinkled on the disk of bronze. And I learned
that the fountain came from an otherwise unknown sea, and sometimes it
threw gilded fragments up from the wrecks of unheard-of galleons,
foundered in storms of some sea that was nowhere in the world; or
battered to bits in wars waged with we know not whom. Some said that
it was salt because of the sea and others that it was salt with
mariners' tears. And some of the poets took large flowers out of
vases and threw their petals all about the room, and others talked two
at a time and other sang. "Why they are only children after all," I
said.
"Only children!" repeated the old witch who was pouring out cowslip
wine.
_"Only_ children," said the old black cat. And every one laughed at
me.
"I sincerely apologize," I said. "I did not mean to say it. I did
not intend to insult any one."
"Why he knows nothing at all," said the old black cat. And everybody
laughed till the poets were put to bed.
And then I took one look at the fields we know, and turned to the
other window that looks on the elfin mountains. And the evening
looked like a sapphire. And I saw my way though the fields were
growing dim, and when I found it I went downstairs and through the
witch's parlour, and out of doors and came that night to the palace of
Singanee.
Lights glittered through every crystal slab--and all were
uncurtained--in the palace of ivory.
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