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ONE city only, of all I have lived in, | |
And one house of that city, belong to me
| |
I remember the mellow light of afternoon | |
Slanting across brick buildings on the waterfront, | |
And small boats at rest on the floating tide, | 5 |
And larger boats at rest in the near-by harbor; | |
And I know the tidal smell, and the smell of mud, | |
Uncovering oyster flats, and the brown bare toes of small negroes | |
With the mud oozing between them; | |
And the little figures leaping from log to log, | 10 |
And the white children playing among them | |
I remember how I played among them. | |
And I remember the recessed windows of the gloomy halls | |
In the darkness of decaying grandeur, | |
The feel of cool linen in the cavernous bed, | 15 |
And the window curtain swaying gently | |
In the night air; | |
All the half-hushed noises of the street | |
In the southern town, | |
And the thrill of life | 20 |
Like a hand in the dark | |
With its felt, indeterminate meaning: | |
I remember that I knew there the stirring of passion, | |
Fear, and the knowledge of sin, | |
Tragedy, laughter, death.
| 25 |
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And I remember, too, on a dead Sunday afternoon | |
In the twilight, | |
When there was no one else in the house, | |
My self suddenly separated itself | |
And left me alone, | 30 |
So that the world lay about me, lifeless. | |
I could not touch it, or feel it, or see it; | |
Yet I was there. | |
The sensation lingers: | |
Only the most vital threads | 35 |
Hold me at all to living
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Yet I only live truly when I think of that house; | |
Only enter then into being. | |
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One city only of all I have lived in, | |
And one house of that city, belong to me. | 40 |
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