As a perfume doth remain In the folds where it hath lain, So the thought of you, remaining Deeply folded in my brain, Will not leave me; all things leave me -You remain. Other thoughts may come and go, Other moments I may know That shall waft me, in their going, As a breath blown to and fro, Fragrant memories; fragrant memories Come and go. Only thoughts of you remain In my heart where they have lain, Perfumed thoughts of you, remaining, A hid sweetness, in my brain. Others leave me; all things leave me -You remain.
Arthur Symons
Source: Wikipedia
As perfume doth remain In the folds where it hath lain, So the thought of you, remaining Deeply folded in my brain, Will not leave me: all things leave me: You remain
perfume thought brain leave things
A realist, in Venice, would become a romantic by mere faithfulness to what he saw before him.
romantic faithfulness
What we ask of him is, that he should find out for us more than we can find out for ourselves. He must have the passion of a lover.
passion find lover
Vaguely conscious of that great suspense in which we live, we find our escape from its sterile, annihilating reality in many dreams, in religion, passion, art.
dreams art live religion passion reality conscious suspense find escape great
Wandering, ever wandering, Because life holds not anything so good As to be free of yesterday, and bound Towards a new to-morrow ; and they wend Into a world of unknown faces, where It may be there are faces waiting them, Faces of friendly strangers, not the long Intolerable monotony of friends. The joy of earth is yours, O wanderers, The only joy of the old earth, to wake, As each new dawn is patiently renewed, With foreheads fresh against a fresh young sky. To be a little further on the road, A little nearer somewhere, some few steps Advanced into the future, and removed By some few counted milestones from the past; God gives you this good gift, the only gift That God, being repentant, has to give. Wanderers, you have the sunrise and the stars; And we, beneath our comfortable roofs, Lamplight, and daily fire upon the hearth, And four walls of a prison, and sure food. But God has given you freedom, wanderers.
freedom
poem
My life is like a music-hall, Where, in the impotence of rage, Chained by enchantment to my stall, I see myself upon the stage Dance to amuse a music-hall.
dance life music
And I would have, now love is over, An end to all, an end: I cannot, having been your lover, Stoop to become your friend!
theend
O my child, who wronged you first, and began First the dance of death that you dance so well? Soul for soul: and I think the soul of a man Shall answer for yours in hell.
dance man death
The gray-green stretch of sandy grass, Indefinitely desolate; A sea of lead, a sky of slate; Already autumn in the air, alas! One stark monotony of stone, The long hotel, acutely white, Against the after-sunset light Withers gray-green, and takes the grass's tone.
light
I have laid sorrow to sleep; Love sleeps. She who oft made me weep Now weeps.
sleep
They pass upon their old, tremulous feet, Creeping with little satchels down the street, And they remember, many years ago, Passing that way in silks. They wander, slow And solitary, through the city ways, And they alone remember those old days Men have forgotten.
men
I heard the sighing of the reeds At noontide and at evening, And some old dream I had forgotten I seemed to be remembering.
dreams
They weave a slow andante as in sleep, Scaled yellow, swampy black, plague-spotted white; With blue and lidless eyes at watch they keep A treachery of silence; infinite.
sleep silence
The wind is rising on the sea, The windy white foam-dancers leap; And the sea moans uneasily, And turns to sleep, and cannot sleep.
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