He shouted at their glorious simplicity--shouted for joy; but lo! before he rose from his chair they were forgotten.
Other visions there were without count.

Also they would mix and fall into new patterns, like the bits of glass in a kaleidoscope.

There was no end to them, and each was lovelier, or grander, or fraught with a more sweet entrancement, than the last.

And still she who brought them, she who opened his eyes, who caused his ears to hear and his soul to see; she whom he worshipped; his heart's twin, she who had sworn herself to him on earth, and was there waiting to fulfil the oath to all eternity; the woman who had become a spirit, that spirit that had taken the shape of a woman--there she stood and smiled and changed, and yet was changeless.

And oh! what did it matter if his life was draining from him, and oh! to die at those glittering feet, with that perfumed breath stirring in his hair! What did he seek more when Death would be the great immortal waking, when from twilight he passed out to light?
What more when in that dawn, awful yet smiling, she should be his and he hers, and they twain would be one, with thought that answered thought, since it was the same thought?
There is much that might be told--enough to fill many pages.