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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358650" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The House Of Dust: Part 04: 04: Counterpoint: Two Rooms</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358650" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">He, in the room above, grown old and tired,<br>She, in the room below—his floor her ceiling—<br>Pursue their separate dreams. He turns his light,<br>And throws himself on the bed, face down, in laughter. . . .<br>She, by the window, smiles at a starlight night,</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358650" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">His watch—the same he has heard these cycles of ages—<br>Wearily chimes at seconds beneath his pillow.<br>The clock, upon her mantelpiece, strikes nine.<br>The night wears on. She hears dull steps above her.<br>The world whirs on. . . .New stars come up to shine.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358650" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">His youth—far off—he sees it brightly walking<br>In a golden cloud. . . .Wings flashing about it. . . . Darkness<br>Walls it around with dripping enormous walls.<br>Old age—far off—her death—what do they matter?<br>Down the smooth purple night a streaked star falls.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358650" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">She hears slow steps in the street—they chime like music;<br>They climb to her heart, they break and flower in beauty,<br>Along her veins they glisten and ring and burn. . . .<br>He hears his own slow steps tread down to silence.<br>Far off they pass. He knows they will never return.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358650" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Far off—on a smooth dark road—he hears them faintly.<br>The road, like a sombre river, quietly flowing,<br>Moves among murmurous walls. A deeper breath<br>Swells them to sound: he hears his steps more clearly.<br>And death seems nearer to him: or he to death.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358650" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">What's death?—She smiles. The cool stone hurts her elbows.<br>The last of the rain-drops gather and fall from elm-boughs,<br>She sees them glisten and break. The arc-lamp sings,<br>The new leaves dip in the warm wet air and fragrance.<br>A sparrow whirs to the eaves, and shakes his wings.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358650" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">What's death—what's death? The spring returns like music,<br>The trees are like dark lovers who dream in starlight,<br>The soft grey clouds go over the stars like dreams.<br>The cool stone wounds her arms to pain, to pleasure.<br>Under the lamp a circle of wet street gleams. . . .<br>And death seems far away, a thing of roses,<br>A golden portal, where golden music closes,<br>Death seems far away:<br>And spring returns, the countless singing of lovers,<br>And spring returns to stay. . . .</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=358650" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">He, in the room above, grown old and tired,<br>Flings himself on the bed, face down, in laughter,<br>And clenches his hands, and remembers, and desires to die.<br>And she, by the window, smiles at a night of starlight.<br>. . . The soft grey clouds go slowly across the sky.</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>