1890
Where is the book that was mine when I was a child, the cherished book
with the picture of a lady, alone, looking over a balustrade——
sitting alone by the light of stars and a rather sullen moon,
and gazing, gazing, at something beyond, gazing intently, and yet perchance
merely gazing, over the balustrade, as over the edge of the world?
Was it to her the edge of the world? Or did the world begin at the balustrade,
and end there, too, or just below, with the presence of a lover,
one who saw not a single star, not even the moon that I saw,
but only the eyes of the lady gazing, or peering, over the marble railing——
whether gazing or peering I could never tell, but apparently gazing?
Wistfully was it that she gazed, perchance at an unknown form in the moonlight,——
or sadly, after the form of a lover disappearing, in haste, in silence,——
or spellbound, at the lawn below, where the lover lingered, or turned away,——
or expectantly, down the path, or toward the woods, or along the shore,——
or tearfully, into desolate space, where no form ever appeared, or would ever appear,——
or blandly, over the edge of the world, where cities rose, resplendent,
visioned now for the first time, or remembered well, with strains far off,
likewise remembered well, together with the scent of memorable flesh or flowers,
the daze of the dance, the charm of old promises, honored, evaded, all these things
remembered well and yet not mourned, but gloated on or exulted over?
Beyond the balustrade, and low in the distance, remote, and ranging far,
was there a vaporous waste, a nebulous desert, with long and shifting dunes, barren, solemn,
even like those of tonight, aridly red in the frown of a sullen moon,
and arrayed with cities barely discernible, cities depopulated of memories——
even an array of ruins, the drear domain of the sullen moon?
The face of the lady was turned away, slightly. I could not see her eyes.
But there was the lady, and there were the balustrade and the stars and the sullen moon.
There was nothing else. There was nothing beyond, except what the lady herself could see.
I wonder if her eyes were closed. I wonder if she looked through tears.
I wonder now if the lady was leering, straight at the sullen moon.
with the picture of a lady, alone, looking over a balustrade——
sitting alone by the light of stars and a rather sullen moon,
and gazing, gazing, at something beyond, gazing intently, and yet perchance
merely gazing, over the balustrade, as over the edge of the world?
Was it to her the edge of the world? Or did the world begin at the balustrade,
and end there, too, or just below, with the presence of a lover,
one who saw not a single star, not even the moon that I saw,
but only the eyes of the lady gazing, or peering, over the marble railing——
whether gazing or peering I could never tell, but apparently gazing?
Wistfully was it that she gazed, perchance at an unknown form in the moonlight,——
or sadly, after the form of a lover disappearing, in haste, in silence,——
or spellbound, at the lawn below, where the lover lingered, or turned away,——
or expectantly, down the path, or toward the woods, or along the shore,——
or tearfully, into desolate space, where no form ever appeared, or would ever appear,——
or blandly, over the edge of the world, where cities rose, resplendent,
visioned now for the first time, or remembered well, with strains far off,
likewise remembered well, together with the scent of memorable flesh or flowers,
the daze of the dance, the charm of old promises, honored, evaded, all these things
remembered well and yet not mourned, but gloated on or exulted over?
Beyond the balustrade, and low in the distance, remote, and ranging far,
was there a vaporous waste, a nebulous desert, with long and shifting dunes, barren, solemn,
even like those of tonight, aridly red in the frown of a sullen moon,
and arrayed with cities barely discernible, cities depopulated of memories——
even an array of ruins, the drear domain of the sullen moon?
The face of the lady was turned away, slightly. I could not see her eyes.
But there was the lady, and there were the balustrade and the stars and the sullen moon.
There was nothing else. There was nothing beyond, except what the lady herself could see.
I wonder if her eyes were closed. I wonder if she looked through tears.
I wonder now if the lady was leering, straight at the sullen moon.
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