At the end of Canto Three of his poem John Shade (the poet in VN’s novel Pale Fire, 1962) mentions ornaments of accidents and possibilities and tells his wife Sybil that he can grope his way to some faint hope:
It did not matter who they were. No sound,
No furtive light came from their involute
Abode, but there they were, aloof and mute,
Playing a game of worlds, promoting pawns
To ivory unicorns and ebon fauns;
Kindling a long life here, extinguishing
A short one there; killing a Balkan king;
Causing a chunk of ice formed on a high
Flying airplane to plummet from the sky
And strike a farmer dead; hiding my keys,
Glasses or pipe. Coordinating these
Events and objects with remote events
And vanished objects. Making ornaments
Of accidents and possibilities.
Stormcoated, I strode in: Sybil, it is
My firm conviction - "Darling, shut the door.
Had a nice trip?" Splendid - but what is more
I have returned convinced that I can grope
My way to some - to some - "Yes, dear?" Faint hope. (ll. 816-834)
According to Emily Dickinson, “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers.” “Meeting by Accident” and “I dwell in Possibility” are poems by Emily Dickinson:
Meeting by Accident,
We hovered by design—
As often as a Century
An error so divine
Is ratified by Destiny,
But Destiny is old
And economical of Bliss
As Midas is of Gold—
I dwell in Possibility –
A fairer House than Prose –
More numerous of Windows –
Superior – for Doors –
Of Chambers as the Cedars –
Impregnable of eye –
And for an everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky –
Of Visitors – the fairest –
For Occupation – This –
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise –
“The Cedars - impregnable of eye” bring to mind “Cedarn, Utana” where, according to Kinbote, he writes his Commentary, Index and Foreword (in that order) to Shade’s poem.
The second poem’s last word, Paradise reminds one of “Instead the Institute assumed it might be wise / Not to expect too much of paradise (the lines in Canto Three of Shade’s poem):
Instead the Institute assumed it might be wise
Not to expect too much of paradise:
What if there's nobody to say hullo
To the newcomer, no reception, no
Indoctrination? What if you are tossed
Into a boundless void, your bearings lost,
Your spirit stripped and utterly alone,
Your task unfinished, your despair unknown,
Your body just beginning to putresce,
A non-undresssable in morning dress,
Your widow lying prone on a dim bed,
Herself a blur in your dissolving head! (ll. 536-548)