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"How to keep the flame-winged lute-player with his dumb eloquence of desire? To feast him was to lose him. Their love for each other was a great love. Their granaries were overflowing with plenitude; yet they wanted to keep the sharp famine-edge of their love undulled. "Nor were they lean little fledglings theorizing on the threshold of Love. They were robust and realized souls.
They would be content with whatever happiness the gods gave them and not strive to wrest more away. "I watched. I said nothing. The months continued to come and go, and still the famine-edge of their love grew the sharper. Never did they dull it with a permitted love-clasp. They ground and whetted it on self-denial, and sharper and sharper it grew. This went on until even I doubted.
They saw it was not the way of life to be hungry for what it has. To eat and still be hungry man has never accomplished that feat. The problem of satiety. That is it. To have and to keep the sharp famine-edge of appetite at the groaning board. This was their problem, for they loved Love.
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