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- SINUOUSLY winding through the room
- On smokey tongues of sweetened cigarettes, --
- Plaintive yet proud the cello tones resume
- The andante of smooth hopes and lost regrets.
- Bright peacocks drink from flame-pots by the wall,
- Just as absinthe-sipping women shiver through
- With shimmering blue from the bowl in Circe's hall.
- Their brown eyes blacken, and the blue drop hue.
- The andante quivers with crescendo's start,
- And dies on fire's birth in each man's heart.
- The tapestry betrays a finger through
- The slit, soft-pulling; -- -- -- and music follows cue.
- There is a sweep, -- a shattering, -- a choir
- Disquieting of barbarous fantasy.
- The pulse is in the ears, the heart is higher,
- And stretches up through mortal eyes to see.
- Carmen! Akimbo arms and smouldering eyes; --
- Carmen! Bestirring hope and lipping eyes; --
- Carmen whirls, and music swirls and dips.
- "Carmen!," comes awed from wine-hot lips.
- Finale leaves in silence to replume
- Bent wings, and Carmen with her flaunts through the gloom
- Of whispering tapestry, brown with old fringe: --
- The winers leave too, and the small lamps twinge.
- Morning: and through the foggy city gate
- A gypsy wagon wiggles, striving straight.
- And some dream still of Carmen's mystic face, --
- Yellow, pallid, like ancient lace.
- Hart Crane
- FORGETFULNESS is like a song
- That, freed from beat and measure, wanders.
- Forgetfulness is like a bird whose wings are reconciled,
- Outspread and motionless, --
- A bird that coasts the wind unwearyingly.
- Forgetfulness is rain at night,
- Or an old house in a forest, -- or a child.
- Forgetfulness is white, -- white as a blasted tree,
- And it may stun the sybil into prophecy,
- Or bury the Gods.
- I can remember much forgetfulness.
- Hart Crane
- It sheds a shy solemnity,
- This lamp in our poor room.
- O grey and gold amenity, --
- Silence and gentle gloom!
- Wide from the world, a stolen hour
- We claim, and none may know
- How love blooms like a tardy flower
- Here in the day's after-glow.
- And even should the world break in
- With jealous threat and guile,
- The world, at last, must bow and win
- Our pity and a smile.
- Hart Crane
- THE little voices of the prairie dogs
- Are tireless . . .
- They will give three hurrahs
- Alike to stage, equestrian, and pullman,
- And all unstingingly as to the moon.
- And Fifi's bows and poodle ease
- Whirl by them centred on the lap
- Of Lottie Honeydew, movie queen,
- Toward lawyers and Nevada.
- And how much more they cannot see!
- Alas, there is so little time,
- The world moves by so fast these days!
- Burrowing in silk is not their way --
- And yet they know the tomahawk.
- Indeed, old memories come back to life;
- Pathetic yelps have sometimes greeted
- Noses pressed against the glass.
- Hart Crane
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Carmen de Boheme