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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358633" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The House Of Dust: Part 02: 11: Snow falls. The sky is grey, and sullenly glares</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358633" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Snow falls. The sky is grey, and sullenly glares<br>With purple lights in the canyoned street.<br>The fiery sign on the dark tower wreathes and flares . . .<br>The trodden grass in the park is covered with white,<br>The streets grow silent beneath our feet . . .<br>The city dreams, it forgets its past to-night.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358633" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">And one, from his high bright window looking down<br>Over the enchanted whiteness of the town,<br>Seeing through whirls of white the vague grey towers,<br>Desires like this to forget what will not pass,<br>The littered papers, the dust, the tarnished grass,<br>Grey death, stale ugliness, and sodden hours.<br>Deep in his heart old bells are beaten again,<br>Slurred bells of grief and pain,<br>Dull echoes of hideous times and poisonous places.<br>He desires to drown in a cold white peace of snow.<br>He desires to forget a million faces . . .</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358633" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">In one room breathes a woman who dies of hunger.<br>The clock ticks slowly and stops. And no one winds it.<br>In one room fade grey violets in a vase.<br>Snow flakes faintly hiss and melt on the window.<br>In one room, minute by minute, the flutist plays<br>The lamplit page of music, the tireless scales.<br>His hands are trembling, his short breath fails.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358633" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">In one room, silently, lover looks upon lover,<br>And thinks the air is fire.<br>The drunkard swears and touches the harlot's heartstrings<br>With the sudden hand of desire.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358633" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">And one goes late in the streets, and thinks of murder;<br>And one lies staring, and thinks of death.<br>And one, who has suffered, clenches her hands despairing,<br>And holds her breath . . .</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358633" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Who are all these, who flow in the veins of the city,<br>Coil and revolve and dream,<br>Vanish or gleam?<br>Some mount up to the brain and flower in fire.<br>Some are destroyed; some die; some slowly stream.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358633" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">And the new are born who desire to destroy the old;<br>And fires are kindled and quenched; and dreams are broken,<br>And walls flung down . . .<br>And the slow night whirls in snow over towers of dreamers,<br>And whiteness hushes the town.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Conrad+Potter+Aiken">Conrad Potter Aiken</a></strong></div>