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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Портрет художника в юности
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- Стр. 193/241
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An
enchantment
of
the
heart
!
The
night
had
been
enchanted
.
In
a
dream
or
vision
he
had
known
the
ecstasy
of
seraphic
life
.
Was
it
an
instant
of
enchantment
only
or
long
hours
and
years
and
ages
?
The
instant
of
inspiration
seemed
now
to
be
reflected
from
all
sides
at
once
from
a
multitude
of
cloudy
circumstances
of
what
had
happened
or
of
what
might
have
happened
.
The
instant
flashed
forth
like
a
point
of
light
and
now
from
cloud
on
cloud
of
vague
circumstance
confused
form
was
veiling
softly
its
afterglow
.
O
!
In
the
virgin
womb
of
the
imagination
the
word
was
made
flesh
.
Gabriel
the
seraph
had
come
to
the
virgin
's
chamber
.
An
afterglow
deepened
within
his
spirit
,
whence
the
white
flame
had
passed
,
deepening
to
a
rose
and
ardent
light
.
That
rose
and
ardent
light
was
her
strange
wilful
heart
,
strange
that
no
man
had
known
or
would
know
,
wilful
from
before
the
beginning
of
the
world
;
and
lured
by
that
ardent
rose-like
glow
the
choirs
of
the
seraphim
were
falling
from
heaven
.
Are
you
not
weary
of
ardent
ways
,
Lure
of
the
fallen
seraphim
?
Tell
no
more
of
enchanted
days
.
The
verses
passed
from
his
mind
to
his
lips
and
,
murmuring
them
over
,
he
felt
the
rhythmic
movement
of
a
villanelle
pass
through
them
.
The
rose-like
glow
sent
forth
its
rays
of
rhyme
;
ways
,
days
,
blaze
,
praise
,
raise
.
Its
rays
burned
up
the
world
,
consumed
the
hearts
of
men
and
angels
:
the
rays
from
the
rose
that
was
her
wilful
heart
.
Your
eyes
have
set
man
's
heart
ablaze
And
you
have
had
your
will
of
him
.
Are
you
not
weary
of
ardent
ways
?
And
then
?
The
rhythm
died
away
,
ceased
,
began
again
to
move
and
beat
.
And
then
?
Smoke
,
incense
ascending
from
the
altar
of
the
world
.
