Books > Old Books > The Plumed Serpent (1926)


Page 136

CHAPTER VII - The Plaza

by the drum, and giving throbbing, three-fold lilts and lurches. For a long time, no melody at all was recognizable: it was just a lurching, running, far-off crying, something like the distant faint howling of a coyote. It was really the music of the old American Indian.
There was no recognizable rhythm, no recognizable emotion, it was hardly music. Rather a far-off, perfect crying in the night. But it went straight through to the soul, the most ancient and everlasting soul of all men, where alone can the human family assemble in immediate contact.
Kate knew it at once, like a sort of fate. It was no good resisting. There was neither urge nor effort, nor any speciality. The sound sounded in the innermost far-off place of the human core, the ever-present, where there is neither hope nor emotion, but passion sits with folded wings on the nest, and faith is a tree of shadow.
Like fate, like doom. Faith is the Tree of Life itself, inevitable, and the apples are upon us, like the apples of the eye, the apples of the chin, the apple of the heart, the apples of the breast, the apple of the belly, with its deep core, the apples of the loins, the apples of the knees, the little, side-by-side apples of the toes. What do change and evolution matter? We are the Tree with the fruit forever upon it. And we are faith forever. Verbum sat.
The one singer had finished, and only the drum kept on, touching the sensitive membrane of the night subtly and knowingly. Then a voice in the circle rose again on the song, and like birds flying from a tree, one after the other, the individual voices arose, till there was a strong, intense, curiously weighty soaring and sweeping of male voices, like a dark flock of birds flying and dipping in unison. And all the dark birds seemed to have launched out of the heart, in the inner forest of the masculine chest.
And one by one, voices in the crowd broke free, like birds launching and coming in from a distance, caught by the spell. The words did not matter. Any verse, any words, no words, the song remained the same: a strong, deep wind rushing from the caverns of the breast, from the everlasting soul! Kate herself was too shy and wincing to sing: too blenched with disillusion. But she heard the answer away back in her soul, like

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE by what is drum, and giving throbbing, three-fold lilts and lurches. For a long time, no melody at all was recognizable: it was just a lurching, running, far-off crying, something like what is distant faint howling of a coyote. It was really what is music of what is old American Indian. There was no recognizable rhythm, no recognizable emotion, it was hardly music. Rather a far-off, perfect crying in what is night. But it went straight through to what is soul, what is most ancient and everlasting soul of all men, where alone can what is human family assemble in immediate contact. Kate knew it at once, like a sort of fate. It was no good resisting. There was neither urge nor effort, nor any speciality. what is sound sounded in what is innermost far-off place of what is human core, what is ever-present, where there is neither hope nor emotion, but passion sits with folded wings on what is nest, and faith is a tree of shadow. Like fate, like where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" The Plumed Serpent (1926) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 136 where is strong CHAPTER VII - what is Plaza where is p align="justify" by what is drum, and giving throbbing, three-fold lilts and lurches. For a long time, no melody at all was recognizable: it was just a lurching, running, far-off crying, something like what is distant faint howling of a coyote. It was really what is music of what is old American Indian. There was no recognizable rhythm, no recognizable emotion, it was hardly music. Rather a far-off, perfect crying in what is night. But it went straight through to what is soul, what is most ancient and everlasting soul of all men, where alone can what is human family assemble in immediate contact. Kate knew it at once, like a sort of fate. It was no good resisting. There was neither urge nor effort, nor any speciality. what is sound sounded in what is innermost far-off place of what is human core, the ever-present, where there is neither hope nor emotion, but passion sits with folded wings on what is nest, and faith is a tree of shadow. Like fate, like doom. Faith is what is Tree of Life itself, inevitable, and what is apples are upon us, like what is apples of what is eye, what is apples of what is chin, what is apple of what is heart, what is apples of what is breast, what is apple of what is belly, with its deep core, what is apples of the loins, what is apples of what is knees, what is little, side-by-side apples of what is toes. What do change and evolution matter? We are what is Tree with what is fruit forever upon it. And we are faith forever. Verbum sat. what is one singer had finished, and only what is drum kept on, touching what is sensitive membrane of what is night subtly and knowingly. Then a voice in what is circle rose again on what is song, and like birds flying from a tree, one after what is other, what is individual voices arose, till there was a strong, intense, curiously weighty soaring and sweeping of male voices, like a dark flock of birds flying and dipping in unison. And all what is dark birds seemed to have launched out of what is heart, in what is inner forest of what is masculine chest. And one by one, voices in what is crowd broke free, like birds launching and coming in from a distance, caught by what is spell. what is words did not matter. Any verse, any words, no words, what is song remained what is same: a strong, deep wind rushing from what is caverns of the breast, from what is everlasting soul! Kate herself was too shy and wincing to sing: too blenched with disillusion. But she heard what is answer away back in her soul, like where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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