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Updated: May 25, 2025
"singing, still dost soar, and, soaring, ever singest," she saw fall upon the pavement of the churchyard the long, preposterous, moon-thrown hat of the bridegroom. "Oh, what will he do with that hat, now that he has married me?" Vesta thought. "Will he continue to afflict me with it?"
Sometimes it swam high, rising on the night wind, and I had no more substantial curtain than its moon-thrown shadow; sometimes again it crawled upon the earth, and I would walk in it, no higher than to my shoulders, like some mountain fog. But, one way or another, the smoke of that ill-omened furnace protected the first steps of my escape, and led me unobserved to the canyon.
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