We launch it.

We follow it with our eyes as it floats from us--an irrecoverable delight.

We watch until the microcosm goes pop! Then we laugh and blow another.
That is where the fellow's simile breaks down.

While the game lasts we are profoundly in earnest, serious as children: but each bubble as it bursts releases a shower of innocent laughter, flinging it like spray upon the sky.

There in a chime it hangs for a moment, and so comes dropping--dropping--back to us until: "Quite through our streets, with silver sound" The flood of laughter flows, and for weeks the narrow roadways, the quays and alleys catch and hold its refluent echoes.