A flickering glimmer through a window-pane, <br />A dim red glare through mud bespattered glass, <br />Cleaving a path between blown walls of sleet <br />Across uneven pavements sunk in slime <br />To scatter and then quench itself in mist. <br />And struggling, slipping, often rudely hurled <br />Against the jutting angle of a wall, <br />And cursed, and reeled against, and flung aside <br />By drunken brawlers as they shuffled past, <br />A man was groping to what seemed a light. <br />His eyelids burnt and quivered with the strain <br />Of looking, and against his temples beat <br />The all enshrouding, suffocating dark. <br />He stumbled, lurched, and struck against a door <br />That opened, and a howl of obscene mirth <br />Grated his senses, wallowing on the floor <br />Lay men, and dogs and women in the dirt. <br />He sickened, loathing it, and as he gazed <br />The candle guttered, flared, and then went out. <br /> <br />Through travail of ignoble midnight streets <br />He came at last to shelter in a porch <br />Where gothic saints and warriors made a shield <br />To cover him, and tortured gargoyles spat <br />One long continuous stream of silver rain <br />That clattered down from myriad roofs and spires <br />Into a darkness, loud with rushing sound <br />Of water falling, gurgling as it fell, <br />But always thickly dark. Then as he leaned <br />Unconscious where, the great oak door blew back <br />And cast him, bruised and dripping, in the church. <br />His eyes from long sojourning in the night <br />Were blinded now as by some glorious sun; <br />He slowly crawled toward the altar steps. <br />He could not think, for heavy in his ears <br />An organ boomed majestic harmonies; <br />He only knew that what he saw was light! <br />He bowed himself before a cross of flame <br />And shut his eyes in fear lest it should fade.<br /><br />Amy Lowell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/j-k-huysmans/
