The cigarette-smoke loops and slides above us, <br />Dipping and swirling as the waiter passes; <br />You strike a match and stare upon the flame. <br />The tiny fire leaps in your eyes a moment, <br />And dwindles away as silently as it came. <br /> <br />This melody, you say, has certain voices— <br />They rise like nereids from a river, singing, <br />Lift white faces, and dive to darkness again. <br />Wherever you go you bear this river with you: <br />A leaf falls,—and it flows, and you have pain. <br /> <br />So says the tune to you—but what to me? <br />What to the waiter, as he pours your coffee, <br />The violinist who suavely draws his bow? <br />That man, who folds his paper, overhears it. <br />A thousand dreams revolve and fall and flow. <br /> <br />Some one there is who sees a virgin stepping <br />Down marble stairs to a deep tomb of roses: <br />At the last moment she lifts remembering eyes. <br />Green leaves blow down. The place is checked with shadows. <br />A long-drawn murmur of rain goes down the skies. <br />And oaks are stripped and bare, and smoke with lightning: <br />And clouds are blown and torn upon high forests, <br />And the great sea shakes its walls. <br />And then falls silence . . . And through long silence falls <br />This melody once more: <br />'Down endless stairs she goes, as once before.' <br /> <br />So says the tune to him—but what to me? <br />What are the worlds I see? <br />What shapes fantastic, terrible dreams? . . . <br />I go my secret way, down secret alleys; <br />My errand is not so simple as it seems.<br /><br />Conrad Potter Aiken<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-house-of-dust-part-03-05-melody-in-a-restaur/
