#lang pollen

◊h1{II. A Game of Chess}

And still she cried, and still the world pursues,	 
"Jug Jug" to dirty ears.	 
And other withered stumps of time	 
Were told upon the walls; staring forms
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.	 
Footsteps shuffled on the stair,	 
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair	 
Spread out in fiery points	 
Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.
 
"My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.	 
Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak.	 
What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?	 
I never know what you are thinking. Think."