The poem
He felt the entrance's green darkness wrapped cooly round him like a silken cloak that he was still accepting and arranging; when at the opposite transparent end, far off,
through green sunlight, as through green window panes, whitely a solitary shape flared up, long remaining distant and then finally, the downdriving light boiling over it at every step,
bearing on itself a bright pulsation, which in the blond ran shyly to the back. But suddenly the shade was deep, and nearby eyes lay gazing
from a clear new unselfconscious face, which, as in a portrait, lived intensely in the instant things split off again: first there forever, and then not at all.