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From “Many Evenings”
HE, in the room above, grown old and tired; | |
| She, in the room below, his floor her ceiling, | |
| Pursue their separate dreams. He turns his light, | |
| And throws himself on the bed, face down, in laughter. | |
| She, by the window, smiles at a starlight night. | 5 |
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| His watch—the same he has heard these cycles of ages— | |
| Wearily chimes at seconds beneath his pillow. | |
| The clock upon her mantelpiece strikes nine. | |
| The night wears on. She hears dull steps above her. | |
| The world whirs on. New stars come up to shine. | 10 |
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| His youth—far off—he sees it brightly walking | |
| In a golden cloud …. wings flashing about it….. Darkness | |
| Walls it around with dripping enormous walls. | |
| Old age, far off—or death—what do they matter? | |
| Down the smooth purple night a streaked star falls. | 15 |
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| She hears slow steps in the street; they chime like music, | |
| They climb to her heart, they break and flower in beauty, | |
| Along her veins they glisten and ring and burn. | |
| He hears his own slow steps tread down to silence. | |
| Far off they pass. He knows they will never return. | 20 |
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| Far off, on a smooth dark road, he hears them faintly. | |
| The road, like a sombre river, quietly flowing, | |
| Moves among murmurous walls. A deeper breath | |
| Swells them to sound: he hears his steps more clearly. | |
| And death seems nearer to him; or he to death. | 25 |
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| What’s death?—she smiles. The cool stone hurts her elbow, | |
| The last few raindrops gather and fall from elm-boughs, | |
| She sees them glisten and break. The arc-lamp sings, | |
| The new leaves dip in the warm wet air and fragrance, | |
| A sparrow whirs to the eaves and shakes its wings. | 30 |
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| What’s death—what’s death? The spring returns like music; | |
| The trees are like dark lovers who dream in starlight; | |
| The soft grey clouds go over the stars like dreams. | |
| The cool stone wounds her arms to pain, to pleasure. | |
| Under the lamp a circle of wet street gleams. | 35 |
| And death seems far away—a thing of roses, | |
| A golden portal where golden music closes, | |
| Death seems far away; | |
| And spring returns, the countless singing of lovers, | |
| And spring returns to stay….. | 40 |
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| He, in the room above, grown old and tired, | |
| Flings himself on the bed, face down, in laughter, | |
| And clenches his hands, and remembers, and desires to die. | |
| And she, by the window, smiles at a night of starlight….. | |
| The soft grey clouds go slowly across the sky. | 45 |
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