The blue mist of after-rain
fills all the trees;
the sunlight gilds the tops
of the poplar spires, far off,
behind the houses.
| Here a branch sways | |
| and there | |
| a sparrow twitters. | |
The curtain's hem, rose-embroidered,
flutters, and half reveals
a burnt-red chimney pot.
The quiet in the room
bears patiently
a footfall on the street.
GLOOM
I sat there in the dark
of the room and of my mind
thinking of men's treasons and bad faith,
sinking into the pit of my own weakness
before their strength of cunning.
Out over the gardens came the sound of some one
playing five-finger exercises on the piano.
Then
I gathered up within me all my powers
until outside of me was nothing:
I was all—
all stubborn, fighting sadness and revulsion.
And one came from the garden quietly,
and stood beside me.
She laid her hand on my hair;
she laid her cheek on my forehead,—
and caressed me with it;
but all my being rose to my forehead
to fight against this outside thing.
Something in me became angry;
withstood like a wall,
and would allow no entrance;
I hated her.
“What is the matter with you, dear?” she said.
“Nothing,” I answered,
“I am thinking.”
She stroked my hair and went away;
and I was still gloomy, angry, stubborn.