| |
| 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 |
| |
| 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 … | |
| Yet I only live truly when I think of that house; | |
| Only enter then into being. | |
| |
| One city only of all I have lived in, | |
| And one house of that city, belong to me. | 40 |
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