The House of Dust; a symphony Part 3

We crowd, not knowing why, around a gate, We crowd together and wait, A stretcher is carried out, voices are stilled, The ambulance drives away.

We watch its roof flash by, hear someone say 'A man fell off the building and was killed-- Fell right into a barrel . . .' We turn again Among the frightened eyes of white-faced men, And go our separate ways, each bearing with him A thing he tries, but vainly, to forget,-- A sickened crowd, a stretcher red and wet.

A hurdy-gurdy sings in the crowded street, The golden notes skip over the sunlit stones, Wings are upon our feet.

The sun seems warmer, the winding street more bright, Sparrows come whirring down in a cloud of light.

We bear our dreams among us, bear them all, Like hurdy-gurdy music they rise and fall, Climb to beauty and die.

The wandering lover dreams of his lover's mouth, And smiles at the hostile sky.

The broker smokes his pipe, and sees a fortune.

The murderer hears a cry.

IV. NIGHTMARE

'Draw three cards, and I will tell your future . . .

Draw three cards, and lay them down, Rest your palms upon them, stare at the crystal, And think of time . . . My father was a clown, My mother was a gypsy out of Egypt; And she was gotten with child in a strange way; And I was born in a cold eclipse of the moon, With the future in my eyes as clear as day.'

I sit before the gold-embroidered curtain And think her face is like a wrinkled desert.

The crystal burns in lamplight beneath my eyes.

A dragon slowly coils on the scaly curtain.

Upon a scarlet cloth a white skull lies.

'Your hand is on the hand that holds three lilies.

You will live long, love many times.

I see a dark girl here who once betrayed you.

I see a shadow of secret crimes.

'There was a man who came intent to kill you, And hid behind a door and waited for you; There was a woman who smiled at you and lied.

There was a golden girl who loved you, begged you, Crawled after you, and died.

'There is a ghost of murder in your blood-- Coming or past, I know not which.

And here is danger--a woman with sea-green eyes, And white-skinned as a witch . . .'

The words hiss into me, like raindrops falling On sleepy fire . . . She smiles a meaning smile.

Suspicion eats my brain; I ask a question; Something is creeping at me, something vile;

And suddenly on the wall behind her head I see a monstrous shadow strike and spread, The lamp puffs out, a great blow crashes down.

I plunge through the curtain, run through dark to the street, And hear swift steps retreat . . .

The shades are drawn, the door is locked behind me.

Behind the door I hear a hammer sounding.

I walk in a cloud of wonder; I am glad.

I mingle among the crowds; my heart is pounding; You do not guess the adventure I have had! . . .

Yet you, too, all have had your dark adventures, Your sudden adventures, or strange, or sweet . . .

My peril goes out from me, is blown among you.

We loiter, dreaming together, along the street.

V. RETROSPECT

Round white clouds roll slowly above the housetops, Over the clear red roofs they flow and pa.s.s.

A flock of pigeons rises with blue wings flas.h.i.+ng, Rises with whistle of wings, hovers an instant, And settles slowly again on the tarnished gra.s.s.

And one old man looks down from a dusty window And sees the pigeons circling about the fountain And desires once more to walk among those trees.

Lovers walk in the noontime by that fountain.

Pigeons dip their beaks to drink from the water.

And soon the pond must freeze.

The light wind blows to his ears a sound of laughter, Young men shuffle their feet, loaf in the sunlight; A girl's laugh rings like a silver bell.

But clearer than all these sounds is a sound he hears More in his secret heart than in his ears,-- A hammer's steady crescendo, like a knell.

He hears the snarl of pineboards under the plane, The rhythmic saw, and then the hammer again,-- Playing with delicate strokes that sombre scale . . .

And the fountain dwindles, the sunlight seems to pale.

Time is a dream, he thinks, a destroying dream; It lays great cities in dust, it fills the seas; It covers the face of beauty, and tumbles walls.

Where was the woman he loved? Where was his youth?

Where was the dream that burned his brain like fire?

Even a dream grows grey at last and falls.

He opened his book once more, beside the window, And read the printed words upon that page.

The sunlight touched his hand; his eyes moved slowly, The quiet words enchanted time and age.

'Death is never an ending, death is a change; Death is beautiful, for death is strange; Death is one dream out of another flowing; Death is a chorded music, softly going By sweet transition from key to richer key.

Death is a meeting place of sea and sea.'

VI. ADELE AND DAVIS

She turned her head on the pillow, and cried once more.

And drawing a shaken breath, and closing her eyes, To shut out, if she could, this dingy room, The wigs and costumes scattered around the floor,-- Yellows and greens in the dark,--she walked again Those nightmare streets which she had walked so often . . .

Here, at a certain corner, under an arc-lamp, Blown by a bitter wind, she stopped and looked In through the brilliant windows of a drug-store, And wondered if she dared to ask for poison: But it was late, few customers were there, The eyes of all the clerks would freeze upon her, And she would wilt, and cry . . . Here, by the river, She listened to the water slapping the wall, And felt queer fascination in its blackness: But it was cold, the little waves looked cruel, The stars were keen, and a windy dash of spray Struck her cheek, and withered her veins . . . And so She dragged herself once more to home, and bed.

Paul hadn't guessed it yet--though twice, already, She'd fainted--once, the first time, on the stage.

So she must tell him soon--or else--get out . . .

How could she say it? That was the hideous thing.

She'd rather die than say it! . . . and all the trouble, Months when she couldn't earn a cent, and then, If he refused to marry her . . . well, what?

She saw him laughing, making a foolish joke, His grey eyes turning quickly; and the words Fled from her tongue . . . She saw him sitting silent, Brooding over his morning coffee, maybe, And tried again . . . she bit her lips, and trembled, And looked away, and said . . . 'Say Paul, boy,--listen-- There's something I must tell you . . . ' There she stopped, Wondering what he'd say . . . What would he say?

'Spring it, kid! Don't look so serious!'

'But what I've got to say--IS--serious!'

Then she could see how, suddenly, he would sober, His eyes would darken, he'd look so terrifying-- He always did--and what could she do but cry?

Perhaps, then, he would guess--perhaps he wouldn't.

And if he didn't, but asked her 'What's the matter?'-- She knew she'd never tell--just say she was sick . . .

And after that, when would she dare again?

And what would he do--even suppose she told him?

If it were Felix! If it were only Felix!-- She wouldn't mind so much. But as it was, Bitterness choked her, she had half a mind To pay out Felix for never having liked her, By making people think that it was he . . .

She'd write a letter to someone, before she died,-- Just saying 'Felix did it--and wouldn't marry.'

And then she'd die . . . But that was hard on Paul . . .

Paul would never forgive her--he'd never forgive her!

Sometimes she almost thought Paul really loved her . . .

She saw him look reproachfully at her coffin.