to rise and strike , ide of green and blue and bronze featruggled ant voice saying: Our master Avicenna ten t all life proceeds out of corruption. ttering feately, and I kne I ruggled for  last. I o t seemed to fill t me aant voice cry ant cry, to numberless pieces; and titude of pale orange gentle faces bending above me, and tering  ten t ted out of tide of flame, and felt my memories, my s, my o be myself, melting ao rise tood, in some ain t, eacernal moment, in t lifting of an arm, in a little circlet of riful t ceased to be, and, range moods, melanc seemed,  of many o t Deaty o t Loneliness udes desire  ceasing. All t o come and dality or tears,  suddenly fallen from tainty of vision into tainty of dream, and become a drop of molten gold falling y, t elaborate ars, and all about me a melancant  to find myself leaning upon table and supporting my o side in tant corner it o, and Mices cing. I  need ans come to a great distance, for o build our temple betitude by titude of men.