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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358644" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The House Of Dust: Part 03: 11: Conversation: Undertones</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358644" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">What shall we talk of? Li Po? Hokusai?<br>You narrow your long dark eyes to fascinate me;<br>You smile a little. . . .Outside, the night goes by.<br>I walk alone in a forest of ghostly trees . . .<br>Your pale hands rest palm downwards on your knees.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358644" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">'These lines—converging, they suggest such distance!<br>The soul is drawn away, beyond horizons.<br>Lured out to what? One dares not think.<br>Sometimes, I glimpse these infinite perspectives<br>In intimate talk (with such as you) and shrink . . .</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358644" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">'One feels so petty!—One feels such—emptiness!—'<br>You mimic horror, let fall your lifted hand,<br>And smile at me; with brooding tenderness . . .<br>Alone on darkened waters I fall and rise;<br>Slow waves above me break, faint waves of cries.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358644" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">'And then these colors . . . but who would dare describe them?<br>This faint rose-coral pink . . this green—pistachio?—<br>So insubstantial! Like the dim ghostly things<br>Two lovers find in love's still-twilight chambers . . .<br>Old peacock-fans, and fragrant silks, and rings . . .</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358644" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">'Rings, let us say, drawn from the hapless fingers<br>Of some great lady, many centuries nameless,—<br>Or is that too sepulchral?—dulled with dust;<br>And necklaces that crumble if you touch them;<br>And gold brocades that, breathed on, fall to rust.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358644" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">'No—I am wrong . . . it is not these I sought for—!<br>Why did they come to mind? You understand me—<br>You know these strange vagaries of the brain!—'<br>—I walk alone in a forest of ghostly trees;<br>Your pale hands rest palm downwards on your knees;<br>These strange vagaries of yours are all too plain.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358644" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">'But why perplex ourselves with tedious problems<br>Of art or . . . such things? . . . while we sit here, living,<br>With all that's in our secret hearts to say!—'<br>Hearts?—Your pale hand softly strokes the satin.<br>You play deep music—know well what you play.<br>You stroke the satin with thrilling of finger-tips,<br>You smile, with faintly perfumed lips,<br>You loose your thoughts like birds,<br>Brushing our dreams with soft and shadowy words . .<br>We know your words are foolish, yet sit here bound<br>In tremulous webs of sound.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358644" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">'How beautiful is intimate talk like this!—<br>It is as if we dissolved grey walls between us,<br>Stepped through the solid portals, become but shadows,<br>To hear a hidden music . . . Our own vast shadows<br>Lean to a giant size on the windy walls,<br>Or dwindle away; we hear our soft footfalls<br>Echo forever behind us, ghostly clear,<br>Music sings far off, flows suddenly near,<br>And dies away like rain . . .<br>We walk through subterranean caves again,—<br>Vaguely above us feeling<br>A shadowy weight of frescos on the ceiling,<br>Strange half-lit things,<br>Soundless grotesques with writhing claws and wings . . .<br>And here a beautiful face looks down upon us;<br>And someone hurries before, unseen, and sings . . .<br>Have we seen all, I wonder, in these chambers—<br>Or is there yet some gorgeous vault, arched low,<br>Where sleeps an amazing beauty we do not know? . . '</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358644" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The question falls: we walk in silence together,<br>Thinking of that deep vault and of its secret . . .<br>This lamp, these books, this fire<br>Are suddenly blown away in a whistling darkness.<br>Deep walls crash down in the whirlwind of desire.</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>