FRAGMENTS OF "THE UNICORN"
For you were wed to a girl
And I am a woman.
My lonely days are not whips to my honour.
[She dries her tears with her hair, then fingers the amulet at her throat.]
Yours, friend.
Nubian
[Eagerly.] My amulet! My amulet!
[He speaks gravely.] Small comfort is counsel to broken lives;
But tolerance is medicinal.
In all our textures are loosed
Pulses straining against strictness
Because an easy issue lies therefrom.
(Could they but slink past the hands holding whips
To hunt them from the human pale
Where is the accident to cover? Spite fears bias.)
I am justified at my heart's plea;
He is justified also.
For the eyes of vanity are sleepless—are suspicious.
Are mad with imaginings
Of secret stabs in words, in looks, in gestures.
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