10
He sought his house, and flung himself upon the bed
And slept.
Within that darkened room, all day, around his head
Wild shadows kept
A ceaseless troubled watch; vague dreams
Flickered and died; he drifted
Down endless winding streams
Beside her, silent; and then was lifted
Suddenly up into tempestuous air
Where he and she were hurled
Headlong across the spaces of the world
In terror and confusion of all thought.
And then she was gone; and he in torture sought
Her vanished form down deserts, and down streets
Of multitudinous cities clanging loud,
And seemed to find and lose her in the crowd
And come on her once more where traffic meets
Cross-streaming traffic. There one look of hers
Would light his heart,—then she was gone again,
Swept by the eddy of trampling hosts apart
From the starved hope of his despairing brain.
When he awoke
Out of this troubled drowse, more trance than sleep,
An ashy yellow light of sunset broke
Across the sky; and under it the steep
Huge slopes of leaden clouds along the west
Were stretched, with dull fire smouldering in their breast.
Then as the dusk fell over the still sea
And a vast emptiness hushed the twilight space,
He walked the heights, a slave to memory,
Seeking the contours of her vanished face.
This should have been a light adventure, cast
Into the void when parting words were said:
Why did the troubling echo of beauty last?
Why was he dreaming, now the hour was fled?
On every breeze he almost caught the tone
Of her low voice; and every curve of bough
Recalled a sense of beauty that was gone.
She seemed so far, and he more lonely now.
Along the coolness of the evening air
Stole the sweet coolness of her delicate cheek;
And all the perfume of her showering hair
Drifted from darkness on him. He grew weak
And lonely as a child to have her stroke
His hair with some small pitying caress.
His memory now seemed powerless to evoke
One clear-cut aspect of her loveliness.
Where was she now? he wondered. Did she brood
Now in some waste of agony and shame,
Finding beyond the night's delirious mood
Only regretful ashes of spent flame?
Humiliation and distrust and hate,—
Perhaps these thoughts companioned her tonight …
Could he but see her!—speak his sense of fate
That once in all the years had wrought aright!
Could he but kiss her quiet forehead,—bring
His thanks for loveliness that saves and frees,—
The night should drift above them on hushed wing
And loosened tears flow in the silences.
Then down the night drifted a jangling sound
Of laughter as his heart revived its fears.
What if he were the dupe of some profound
And facile guile,—and all his starting tears
Were wasted at the feet of one who now
Whispered this tale to some fresh worshiper
Down the smooth floors where suave adorers bow,
And ready mirth flamed up to circle her?
Clumsily, doubtless, he had played his part,
Unversed in gallantry, too deeply stirred.
He seemed to hear her mock his dreaming heart
And ape his smile and quote his fatuous word. . . .
And then he cursed his skeptic heart, intent
To ruin every flower with blight.
That haunting music was no dream that went
With silver footsteps down the night!
Some luminous recollection came to kill
The specters of his doubt and his distress;
And well he knew, tonight she was grave and still
Under the shadow of lost loveliness.
Like a white bird gone over the white wave
She gleamed before his thought that followed her.
Delicate, subtle, lonely-hearted, brave,
She had come to him, a young deliverer,
A goddess from the foam. Now down her track
His heart pursued with longing and despair;
And knew, not all his passion could bring back
The murmur of her voice, or her dim hair.
His lips were quivering with her cool soft lips.
His hand stretched out to touch her carven breast.
Below him in the harbor sleeping ships
Filled him with hatred of their dreamless rest. . . .
Then to escape the alien majesty
Of the white planets wheeling slowly by,
He turned and entered to his paneled room
Where few lights hazed the gloom.—
And over his organ-keys all night
His fingers strayed, searching through shifting mazes
For her and for the echoes of her delight;
Tracking her up the stair of singing keys,
Through vaults and naves of sound,
And deep into sepulchral crypts profound,
And into sudden flights through sunlit air,
And through pale hazes
Of moonlight, dreaming above waters wide
Where music drifted like an ancient tide
Over a sea-washed city, or where on high
A rock-perched swan beneath moon-flooded sky
Poured out its heart in desperate melody.
And slept.
Within that darkened room, all day, around his head
Wild shadows kept
A ceaseless troubled watch; vague dreams
Flickered and died; he drifted
Down endless winding streams
Beside her, silent; and then was lifted
Suddenly up into tempestuous air
Where he and she were hurled
Headlong across the spaces of the world
In terror and confusion of all thought.
And then she was gone; and he in torture sought
Her vanished form down deserts, and down streets
Of multitudinous cities clanging loud,
And seemed to find and lose her in the crowd
And come on her once more where traffic meets
Cross-streaming traffic. There one look of hers
Would light his heart,—then she was gone again,
Swept by the eddy of trampling hosts apart
From the starved hope of his despairing brain.
When he awoke
Out of this troubled drowse, more trance than sleep,
An ashy yellow light of sunset broke
Across the sky; and under it the steep
Huge slopes of leaden clouds along the west
Were stretched, with dull fire smouldering in their breast.
Then as the dusk fell over the still sea
And a vast emptiness hushed the twilight space,
He walked the heights, a slave to memory,
Seeking the contours of her vanished face.
This should have been a light adventure, cast
Into the void when parting words were said:
Why did the troubling echo of beauty last?
Why was he dreaming, now the hour was fled?
On every breeze he almost caught the tone
Of her low voice; and every curve of bough
Recalled a sense of beauty that was gone.
She seemed so far, and he more lonely now.
Along the coolness of the evening air
Stole the sweet coolness of her delicate cheek;
And all the perfume of her showering hair
Drifted from darkness on him. He grew weak
And lonely as a child to have her stroke
His hair with some small pitying caress.
His memory now seemed powerless to evoke
One clear-cut aspect of her loveliness.
Where was she now? he wondered. Did she brood
Now in some waste of agony and shame,
Finding beyond the night's delirious mood
Only regretful ashes of spent flame?
Humiliation and distrust and hate,—
Perhaps these thoughts companioned her tonight …
Could he but see her!—speak his sense of fate
That once in all the years had wrought aright!
Could he but kiss her quiet forehead,—bring
His thanks for loveliness that saves and frees,—
The night should drift above them on hushed wing
And loosened tears flow in the silences.
Then down the night drifted a jangling sound
Of laughter as his heart revived its fears.
What if he were the dupe of some profound
And facile guile,—and all his starting tears
Were wasted at the feet of one who now
Whispered this tale to some fresh worshiper
Down the smooth floors where suave adorers bow,
And ready mirth flamed up to circle her?
Clumsily, doubtless, he had played his part,
Unversed in gallantry, too deeply stirred.
He seemed to hear her mock his dreaming heart
And ape his smile and quote his fatuous word. . . .
And then he cursed his skeptic heart, intent
To ruin every flower with blight.
That haunting music was no dream that went
With silver footsteps down the night!
Some luminous recollection came to kill
The specters of his doubt and his distress;
And well he knew, tonight she was grave and still
Under the shadow of lost loveliness.
Like a white bird gone over the white wave
She gleamed before his thought that followed her.
Delicate, subtle, lonely-hearted, brave,
She had come to him, a young deliverer,
A goddess from the foam. Now down her track
His heart pursued with longing and despair;
And knew, not all his passion could bring back
The murmur of her voice, or her dim hair.
His lips were quivering with her cool soft lips.
His hand stretched out to touch her carven breast.
Below him in the harbor sleeping ships
Filled him with hatred of their dreamless rest. . . .
Then to escape the alien majesty
Of the white planets wheeling slowly by,
He turned and entered to his paneled room
Where few lights hazed the gloom.—
And over his organ-keys all night
His fingers strayed, searching through shifting mazes
For her and for the echoes of her delight;
Tracking her up the stair of singing keys,
Through vaults and naves of sound,
And deep into sepulchral crypts profound,
And into sudden flights through sunlit air,
And through pale hazes
Of moonlight, dreaming above waters wide
Where music drifted like an ancient tide
Over a sea-washed city, or where on high
A rock-perched swan beneath moon-flooded sky
Poured out its heart in desperate melody.
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