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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Портрет художника в юности
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- Стр. 198/241
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Even
if
he
sent
her
the
verses
she
would
not
show
them
to
others
.
No
,
no
;
she
could
not
.
He
began
to
feel
that
he
had
wronged
her
.
A
sense
of
her
innocence
moved
him
almost
to
pity
her
,
an
innocence
he
had
never
understood
till
he
had
come
to
the
knowledge
of
it
through
sin
,
an
innocence
which
she
too
had
not
understood
while
she
was
innocent
or
before
the
strange
humiliation
of
her
nature
had
first
come
upon
her
.
Then
first
her
soul
had
begun
to
live
as
his
soul
had
when
he
had
first
sinned
,
and
a
tender
compassion
filled
his
heart
as
he
remembered
her
frail
pallor
and
her
eyes
,
humbled
and
saddened
by
the
dark
shame
of
womanhood
.
While
his
soul
had
passed
from
ecstasy
to
languor
where
had
she
been
?
Might
it
be
,
in
the
mysterious
ways
of
spiritual
life
,
that
her
soul
at
those
same
moments
had
been
conscious
of
his
homage
?
It
might
be
.
A
glow
of
desire
kindled
again
his
soul
and
fired
and
fulfilled
all
his
body
.
Conscious
of
his
desire
she
was
waking
from
odorous
sleep
,
the
temptress
of
his
villanelle
.
Her
eyes
,
dark
and
with
a
look
of
languor
,
were
opening
to
his
eyes
.
Her
nakedness
yielded
to
him
,
radiant
,
warm
,
odorous
and
lavish-limbed
,
enfolded
him
like
a
shining
cloud
,
enfolded
him
like
water
with
a
liquid
life
;
and
like
a
cloud
of
vapour
or
like
waters
circumfluent
in
space
the
liquid
letters
of
speech
,
symbols
of
the
element
of
mystery
,
flowed
forth
over
his
brain
.
Are
you
not
weary
of
ardent
ways
,
Lure
of
the
fallen
seraphim
?
Tell
no
more
of
enchanted
days
.
Your
eyes
have
set
man
's
heart
ablaze
And
you
have
had
your
will
of
him
.
Are
you
not
weary
of
ardent
ways
?
