Page:Poetry, a magazine of verse, Volume 7 (October 1915-March 1916).djvu/224

POETRY: A Magazine of Verse In the darkness of decaying grandeur, The feel of cool linen in the cavernous bed, And the window curtain swaying gently In the night air; All the half-hushed noises of the street In the southern town, And the thrill of life— Like a hand in the dark With its felt, indeterminate meaning: I remember that I knew there the stirring of passion, Fear, and the knowledge of sin, Tragedy, laughter, death


 * And I remember, too, on a dead Sunday afternoon

In the twilight, When there was no one else in the house, My self suddenly separated itself And left me alone, So that the world lay about me, lifeless. I could not touch it, or feel it, or see it; Yet I was there. The sensation lingers: Only the most vital threads Hold me at all to living Yet I only live truly when I think of that house; Only enter then into being.


 * One city only of all I have lived in,

And one house of that city, belong to me.