Circles and circles their paths, this my paving a spiral aloof on every corner of the rotunda above. Which pebble the next one? There lies one verdant emrald, then one ruby in cerise red, so on until one beryl in sallow, tangerine, cerulean, and then pale verdure in the body of it.
One foot, then two in my count - There slips my feet. Ah! Am I a child again.
Two strides then two back, alas! how does this square make one then? Where the square? 'Tis a nothingness, or a line am I too blind to sight. Ah! There some line neither fine, nor too taut a string, but a chisel's end it makes with excellence.
Or, there some line can I see not still; lest there some line can I not see.
Colors and shades in hues my visitors in mind, an ensign of my own kind of pride they make, such colors! Oh! such colors I see!
Oh my my! my dear listener to peruse so far so much, is it enough?
Not will thee say and will I ask right away how much is left.
Tell me for thou must speak; tell me for I must know.
Tessellated terrazzo in marmoreal mosaic that is, but there the marble that is not.
Aha! where the marble! Where the ground? On address of mine do they come.
Aha! where that route! which paving stony, or in bitumen of plain black...