Dewy web like pearly cable, lustrous ware upon the table; Chalice, tankard, spoon and platter. Candle flames like diamonds shatter. Thread and needle for the tailor; guiding beacons for the sailor. Shadow in a burnished mirror, sharp as crystal, brighter, clearer. Elemental, clever metal, snowy as an almond petal. Shimmer on nocturnal water, heart-enslaver, shining: silver. THE LOVE OF SILVER:TRANSLATED FROM THE LANGUAGE OF THE TROWS Across the entire sky constellations, heart-piercingly pure, glittered against a ceiling of hyacinthine mystery, as if caught in some intricate mesh. The stars silently radiating their splendour sparkled as brilliantly at the zenith as at the outer fences of the world. Presently a glow opened on the horizon behind the ranges, like the radiance from a city lit with white-flamed torches. Soon it brightened, impossibly, as if an argentine bonfire of gigantic dimensions had been kindled. A tiny arc of silver ascended, growing to become a semicircular disc. The moon had risen.
