Young Adventure: A Book of Poems
Nonfiction, Religion & Spirituality, New Age, History, Fiction & Literature
| Author: | Stephen Vincent Benét | ISBN: | 9781465526199 |
| Publisher: | Library of Alexandria | Publication: | March 8, 2015 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | Stephen Vincent Benét |
| ISBN: | 9781465526199 |
| Publisher: | Library of Alexandria |
| Publication: | March 8, 2015 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
Rain after a Vaudeville Show The last pose flickered, failed. The screen's dead white Glared in a sudden flooding of harsh light Stabbing the eyes; and as I stumbled out The curtain rose. A fat girl with a pout And legs like hams, began to sing "His MOther". Gusts of bad air rose in a choking smOther; Smoke, the wet steam of clothes, the stench of plush, Powder, cheap perfume, mingled in a rush. I stepped into the lobby — and stood still Struck dumb by sudden beauty, body and will. Cleanness and rapture — excellence made plain — The storming, thrashing arrows of the rain! Pouring and dripping on the roofs and rods, Smelling of woods and hills and fresh-turned sods, Black on the sidewalks, gray in the far sky, Crashing on thirsty panes, on gutters dry, Hurrying the crowd to shelter, making fair The streets, the houses, and the heat-soaked air, — Merciful, holy, charging, sweeping, flashing, It smote the soul with a most iron clashing!... Like dragons' eyes the street-lamps suddenly gleamed, Yellow and round and dim-low globes of flame. And, scarce-perceived, the clouds' tall banners streamed. Out of the petty wars, the daily shame, Beauty strove suddenly, and rose, and flowered.... I gripped my coat and plunged where awnings lowered. Made one with hissing blackness, caught, embraced, By splendor and by striving and swift haste — Spring coming in with thunderings and strife — I stamped the ground in the strong joy of life! The City Revisited The grey gulls drift across the bay Softly and still as flakes of snow Against the thinning fog. All day I sat and watched them come and go; And now at last the sun was set, Filling the waves with colored fire Till each seemed like a jewelled spire Thrust up from some drowned city. Soon From peak and cliff and minaret The city's lights began to wink, Each like a friendly word. The moon Began to broaden out her shield, Spurting with silver. Straight before The brown hills lay like quiet beasts Stretched out beside a well-loved door, And filling earth and sky and field With the calm heaving of their breasts. Nothing was gone, nothing was changed, The smallest wave was unestranged By all the long ache of the years Since last I saw them, blind with tears. Their welcome like the hills stood fast: And I, I had come home at last. So I laughed out with them aloud To think that now the sun was broad, And climbing up the iron sky, Where the raw streets stretched sullenly About another room I knew, In a mean house — and soon there, too, The smith would burst the flimsy door And find me lying on the floor. Just where I fell the Other night, After that breaking wave of pain. — How they will storm and rage and fight, Servants and mistress, one and all, "No money for the funeral!" I broke my life there. Let it stand At that. The waters are a plain, Heaving and bright on either hand, A tremulous and lustral peace Which shall endure though all things cease, Filling my heart as water fills A cup. There stand the quiet hills. So, waiting for my wings to grow, I watch the gulls sail to and fro, Rising and falling, soft and swift, Drifting along as bubbles drift. And, though I see the face of God Hereafter — this day have I trod Nearer to Him than I shall tread Ever again. The night is dead. And there's the dawn, poured out like wine Along the dim horizon-line. And from the city comes the chimes — We have our heaven on earth — sometimes
Rain after a Vaudeville Show The last pose flickered, failed. The screen's dead white Glared in a sudden flooding of harsh light Stabbing the eyes; and as I stumbled out The curtain rose. A fat girl with a pout And legs like hams, began to sing "His MOther". Gusts of bad air rose in a choking smOther; Smoke, the wet steam of clothes, the stench of plush, Powder, cheap perfume, mingled in a rush. I stepped into the lobby — and stood still Struck dumb by sudden beauty, body and will. Cleanness and rapture — excellence made plain — The storming, thrashing arrows of the rain! Pouring and dripping on the roofs and rods, Smelling of woods and hills and fresh-turned sods, Black on the sidewalks, gray in the far sky, Crashing on thirsty panes, on gutters dry, Hurrying the crowd to shelter, making fair The streets, the houses, and the heat-soaked air, — Merciful, holy, charging, sweeping, flashing, It smote the soul with a most iron clashing!... Like dragons' eyes the street-lamps suddenly gleamed, Yellow and round and dim-low globes of flame. And, scarce-perceived, the clouds' tall banners streamed. Out of the petty wars, the daily shame, Beauty strove suddenly, and rose, and flowered.... I gripped my coat and plunged where awnings lowered. Made one with hissing blackness, caught, embraced, By splendor and by striving and swift haste — Spring coming in with thunderings and strife — I stamped the ground in the strong joy of life! The City Revisited The grey gulls drift across the bay Softly and still as flakes of snow Against the thinning fog. All day I sat and watched them come and go; And now at last the sun was set, Filling the waves with colored fire Till each seemed like a jewelled spire Thrust up from some drowned city. Soon From peak and cliff and minaret The city's lights began to wink, Each like a friendly word. The moon Began to broaden out her shield, Spurting with silver. Straight before The brown hills lay like quiet beasts Stretched out beside a well-loved door, And filling earth and sky and field With the calm heaving of their breasts. Nothing was gone, nothing was changed, The smallest wave was unestranged By all the long ache of the years Since last I saw them, blind with tears. Their welcome like the hills stood fast: And I, I had come home at last. So I laughed out with them aloud To think that now the sun was broad, And climbing up the iron sky, Where the raw streets stretched sullenly About another room I knew, In a mean house — and soon there, too, The smith would burst the flimsy door And find me lying on the floor. Just where I fell the Other night, After that breaking wave of pain. — How they will storm and rage and fight, Servants and mistress, one and all, "No money for the funeral!" I broke my life there. Let it stand At that. The waters are a plain, Heaving and bright on either hand, A tremulous and lustral peace Which shall endure though all things cease, Filling my heart as water fills A cup. There stand the quiet hills. So, waiting for my wings to grow, I watch the gulls sail to and fro, Rising and falling, soft and swift, Drifting along as bubbles drift. And, though I see the face of God Hereafter — this day have I trod Nearer to Him than I shall tread Ever again. The night is dead. And there's the dawn, poured out like wine Along the dim horizon-line. And from the city comes the chimes — We have our heaven on earth — sometimes
