The half-shut doors through which we heard that music <br />Are softly closed. Horns mutter down to silence. <br />The stars whirl out, the night grows deep. <br />Darkness settles upon us. A vague refrain <br />Drowsily teases at the drowsy brain. <br />In numberless rooms we stretch ourselves and sleep. <br /> <br />Where have we been? What savage chaos of music <br />Whirls in our dreams?—We suddenly rise in darkness, <br />Open our eyes, cry out, and sleep once more. <br />We dream we are numberless sea-waves languidly foaming <br />A warm white moonlit shore; <br /> <br />Or clouds blown windily over a sky at midnight, <br />Or chords of music scattered in hurrying darkness, <br />Or a singing sound of rain . . . <br />We open our eyes and stare at the coiling darkness, <br />And enter our dreams again.<br /><br />Conrad Potter Aiken<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-house-of-dust-part-03-13-the-half-shut-doors/
