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From “Many Evenings”
OF what she said to me that night—no matter. | |
| The strange thing came next day. | |
| My brain was full of music—something she played me; | |
| I couldn’t remember it all, but phrases of it | |
| Wreathed and wreathed among faint memories, | 5 |
| Seeking for something, trying to tell me something, | |
| Urging to restlessness, verging on grief. | |
| I tried to play the tune, from memory— | |
| But memory failed: the chords and discords climbed | |
| And found no resolution, only hung there, | 10 |
| And left me morbid. Where, then, had I heard it?… | |
| What secret dusty chamber was it hinting? | |
| “Dust,” it said, “dust …. and dust …. and sunlight…. | |
| A cold clear April evening …. snow-bedraggled…. | |
| Rain-worn snow dappling the hideous grass…. | 15 |
| And someone walking alone; and someone saying | |
| That all must end, for the time had come to go….” | |
| These were the phrases; but behind, beneath them, | |
| A greater shadow moved, and in this shadow | |
| I stood and guessed….. Was it the blue-eyed lady? | 20 |
| The one who always danced in golden slippers?— | |
| And had I danced, with her, upon this music? | |
| Or was it further back—the unplumbed twilight | |
| Of childhood?…. No—much recenter than that. | |
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| You know, without my telling you, how sometimes | 25 |
| A word or name eludes you, and you seek it | |
| Through running ghosts of shadow—leaping at it, | |
| Lying in wait for it to spring upon it, | |
| Spreading faint snares for it of sense or sound; | |
| Until of a sudden, as if in a phantom forest, | 30 |
| You hear it, see it flash among the branches, | |
| And, scarcely knowing how, suddenly have it. | |
| Well, it was so I followed down this music, | |
| Glimpsing a face in darkness, hearing a cry, | |
| Remembering days forgotten, moods exhausted, | 35 |
| Corners in sunlight, puddles reflecting stars; | |
| Until, of a sudden, and least of all expected, | |
| The thing resolved itself: and I remembered | |
| An April afternoon, eight years ago— | |
| Or was it nine?—no matter, call it nine— | 40 |
| A room in which the last of sunlight faded; | |
| A vase of violets, fragrance in white curtains; | |
| And she, who played this same thing later, playing. | |
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| She played this tune. And in the middle of it | |
| Abruptly broke it off, letting her hands | 45 |
| Fall in her lap. She sat there so a moment, | |
| With shoulders drooped, then lifted up a rose, | |
| One great white rose, wide open, like a lotus, | |
| And pressed it to her cheek, and closed her eyes. | |
| “You know—we’ve got to end this—Miriam loves you….. | 50 |
| If she should ever know, or even guess it, | |
| What would she do? Listen!—I’m not absurd….. | |
| I’m sure of it. If you had eyes for women, | |
| To understand them, which you’ve never had, | |
| You’d know it too….” So went this colloquy, | 55 |
| Half humorous, with undertones of pathos, | |
| Half grave, half flippant …. while her fingers, softly, | |
| Felt for this tune, played it and let it fall, | |
| Now note by singing note, now chord by chord, | |
| Repeating phrases with a kind of pleasure. | 60 |
| Was it symbolic of the woman’s weakness | |
| That she could neither break it—nor conclude? | |
| It paused …. and wandered …. paused again; while she, | |
| Perplexed and tired, half told me I must go, | |
| Half asked me if I thought I ought to go….. | 65 |
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| Well, April passed, with many other evenings, | |
| Evenings like this, with later suns and warmer, | |
| With violets always there, and fragrant curtains….. | |
| And she was right. And Miriam found it out….. | |
| And after that, when eight deep years had passed— | 70 |
| Or nine—we met once more, by accident. | |
| But was it just by accident, I wonder, | |
| She played this tune? Or what, then, was intended? | |
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