Selected Poems (Aiken)/Variations

VARIATIONS [1916]

I

The moon distills a soft blue light,
The moon distills a silence.
Black clouds huddle across the stars;
I walk in deserted gardens
Breaking the dry leaves under my feet . . .
Leaves have littered the marble seat
Where the lovers sat in silence . . .
Leaves have littered the empty seat . . .

Down there the black pool, quiveringly,
Ripples the floating moon . . .
Down there the tall trees, restlessly,
Shake beneath the moon . . .
Beloved, I walk alone . . .
What ghost is this that walks with me,
Always in darkness walks with me?

II

Green light, from the moon,
Pours over the dark blue trees,
Green light from the autumn moon
Pours on the grass . . .
Green light falls on the goblin fountain
Where hesitant lovers meet and pass.

They laugh in the moonlight, touching hands,
They move like leaves on the wind . . .
I remember an autumn night like this,
And not so long ago,
When other lovers were blown like leaves,
Before the coming of snow.

III

Wind in the sunlit trees, and the red leaves fall:
Shadows of leaves on the sunlit wall.
Wind in the turning tops of the trees . . .
I am reminded, seeing these,
Of an afternoon, and you
Making the trees more scarlet, the sky more blue.

IV

Here alone, unknown, in the darkness,
I watch you whirling above your shadow,
Soft in saffron, with dark hair jewelled,
And arms uplifted,

Dancing alone in the hissing spotlight . . .
You rise and fall on the wave of the music
Narrowing eyes at the light that dazzles,
Languidly smiling . . .

Beautiful, now, are your cold white shoulders . . .
If I were death, my hands might touch them;
If I were death, my mouth might kiss you,
Passionate dancer.

V

From the cold fountain's sunlit lip
A shining film of water spreads,
It is shot with sun, it is blue and gold . . .
It scatters jewels to wet the grass,
And children watch it with lifted heads,
And the young girls pause there as they pass . . .
A sparrow sits at the edge, and flings
The vanishing jewels with his wings.

VI

You are as beautiful as white clouds
Flowing among bright stars at night:
You are as beautiful as pale clouds
Which the moon sets alight.

You are as lovely as golden stars
Which white clouds try to brush away:
You are as bright as golden stars
When they come out to play.

You are as glittering as those stairs
Of stone down which the blue brooks run:
You are as shining as sea-waves
All hastening to the sun.

VII

Red leaf, red leaf, falling to float
On the blue water among the cold clouds,
If I were a child I would call you a boat
And sail to the moon . . .

I would sail to the moon with the dark king's daughter,
The beautiful dreamer with green-slippered feet;
Her long golden hair would shine on the water;
Her eyes would be blue;

And there she would sing, while the sail overhead
Swelled with the wind, and the green waves flashed,—
Her red lips would sing, till the isle of the dead
Rose darkly before us.

VIII

In the mazes of loitering people, the watchful and furtive,
The shadows of tree-trunks and shadows of leaves,
In the drowse of the sunlight, among the low voices,
I suddenly face you,

Your dark eyes return for a space from her who is with you,
They shine into mine with a sunlit desire,
They say an 'I love you, what star do you live on?'
They smile and then darken,

And silent I answer 'You too—I have known you,—I love you!'—
And the shadows of tree-trunks and shadows of leaves
Interlace with low voices and footsteps and sunlight
To divide us forever.

IX

Moonlight, and shadows of leaves
On the white wall above me—
The shadows gallop and swirl without sound.
Blue moonlight, brief shadows of leaves,
And once more I see you:
Saying aloud, like a dreamer, 'You love me,
You love me!'

Moonlight . . . down there in the garden,
I know without seeing,
The somnolent fountain is filled with blue fire.
I close my eyes, I pursue you
Through dream's fainter moonlight,
Ghostlike, with shadows of dead leaves, silently
Fleeing.

X

Queen Cleopatra, now grown old,
Watched the green grass turning brown . . .
The river is shrunk to half its size:
Now I will lay me down.

Queen Cleopatra called her slaves
And peered in the mirror with age-pearled eyes;
My lips are not so red as they were:
Not so the old leaf dies!

Light the torches, and fill the courts
With scarlet music, and bring to me
Vermilion to smear upon my lips,
And opals, that I may be

Once more what Cleopatra was
Before the woman became the queen . . .
She laughed, and backward tossed her head;
And horn, and tambourine,

Snarled at the hot and red-starred night,
While gasping dancers, one by one,
Whirled on the stone with yellow feet . . .
And when that dance was done

She poured cold poison into a cup
And watched the thick foam wink and seethe:
One black bubble upon her tongue
And she would cease to breathe.

She held the poison before her mouth . . .
And saw the dark tomb hewed in stone
Where a thousand nights would drift as one,
And she would sleep alone;

And thought, with a pleased and narrowed eye,
Of this and that, and Antony,
And the laugh that will not die.

XI

This night I dreamed that you shone before me
Colder and paler than rose-flushed marble,
With dark hair fallen across your shoulders
And face half hidden.

And in that darkness I went before you
And turned my eyes from your beauty quickly:
I turned away from your too great beauty,
I fled before you.

Now I remember how in that shadow
You started to smile, your dark eyes kindled,
Your face grew light with a word unspoken;
Then, had I waited,

I should have learned . . . what moonlight secret?
What whisper of temples and hills of cypress?
What echo of singing and far-off cymbals,
Gleam of the goddess? . . .

But I, grown base in fear of denial,
Though all my blood stood still for your beauty,
I turned in silence away from your kindness;
And now I have lost you.

XII

Wind, wind, wind in the old trees,
Whispering prophecies all night long . . .
What do the grey leaves sing to the wind,
What do they say in their whispered song?

We were all young once, and green as the sea,
We all loved beauty, the maiden of white.
But now we are old. O wind, have mercy
And let us remember our youth this night!

The wind is persuasive, it turns through the trees
And sighs of a miracle under its breath.
Beauty the dream will die with the dreamer,
None shall have mercy, but all shall have death.

XIII

Blue waves are driven by wind,
The leaves are driven,
And the clouds go hurrying dizzily over the sky.
Among the blown leaves he stands, and lifts his flute,
And trembles, and blows strange melody at the sky.
The music he plays is old blown leaves,
The notes are unevenly blown.
Sometimes it sings, sometimes it grieves,
Sometimes a querulous monotone . . .
What does he see above red rooftops,
What does he see when he lifts his eyes?
Pale leaves loosened from bare black elm-boughs,
Pale leaves hurled from the hurrying skies,
Death . . . death . . . death . . . death . . .
Beauty singing for beauty that dies.
Love was betrayed in the whispering garden:
Clear as white flame the maiden fled.
A shaft of moonlight dazzled the somnolent garden;
And among the white leaves love lay dead . . .
Pale waves are driven to foam,
And the leaves are driven;
Among the blown leaves he wavers and lifts his flute.
Dust will cover the golden leaves of the maple,
The querulous praise will soon be mute.

XIV

Beautiful body made of ivory,
Beautiful body made of ivory and roses,
Beautiful body made of gold and beaten silver,
Garlanded with ivy,

Colder than starlight you stand and await me,
Colder than starlight on the snow of mountains;
Whiter than starlight on the snow of oceans
You wait and are silent.

Beautiful dreamer of dreams,
Beautiful dreamer of cold-hearted music,
Roseate dreamer of involuted music,
Chords of tense silver,

Clearly you sound to me in the night-time;
Solemnly, like a rich wind moving,
You move in my heart's enchanted forests,
You sigh and are restless.

Beautiful dream of the dreamer,
Rare dream profoundly and curiously unfolding,
Unfolding like a lotus in waves of cool fragrance,
Unfolding in slow measure,

You are like moonlight prodigally unfolding,
You are like the universe of stars unfolding,
Unfolding in slow chords of sound and silence,
Grave and immortal.

Beautiful body made of roses,
Beautiful body made of roses and sea-waves,
Beautiful body with eyes of cold starlight,
Slow-moving dreamer,

Beautiful woman made of love,
White body made of dreamdust and stardust,
Silently and sedately you enter me,—
Quietly you possess me.

XV

The sea falls all night on the yellow sand,
The green waves foam and thrust and slide,
The long green waves fall on the yellow sand,
All night long they fall,

The green waves fall and drag at the yellow pebbles,
The shingle roars in the sliding surf,
Wind screams over the long volutes of foam,
All night long they whirl,

They charge the sand and seethe and slide in laughter,
Swiftly withdraw and murmur and rise,
They charge the sand with rippling glittering edges,
All night long they charge,

Immortally flinging their long green bodies to death,
Immortally baffled, withdrawing, crying,
Rallying, hurrying, clamoring, sobbing for rest,
Immortally slaying, immortally dying.

XVI

Against an orange twilight sky
The street lamp gleams like clearer fire,
The cold wind spills the huddling leaves,
And cold bells, in the sombre spire,
Shake the wind with a savage sound . . .
The street lamp gleams like a golden eye.

This dust will be possessed of tongues,
These leaves will find a million voices,
These stones will murmur and seize our feet,
These boughs of trees will writhe and beat . . .
Against an orange twilight sky
The street lamp burns like a golden eye.

The earth's edge, growing black, swings up
With sinister and enormous arc,
The yellow star that came to swim
Silently in the golden sky
Is caught and crushed by that black rim . . .
The street lamp gleams like an evil eye.

XVII

Tear the pink rose petal by petal
And let the petals float and fall,
Ravel the golden stamens out,
And last of all,

Shredding its sweetness on the wind,
Turn and laugh and go away,
Forgetting how soft a thing it was,
How brief a thing to stay.

But when white winds have swept your heart
And white tides driven along your veins,
And the continents are yellow with leaves
And the mountains black with rains,

Secretly in your depths of sleep
Among the unresting rocks and roots
A dream, a gleam, a warmth will start,
A whorl of winds and lutes,

And thrusting among the withered leaves
Will burn the purple-pointed flame,
And the rose you slew will light again,
Will light again the same.

XVIII

The sun distills a golden light,
The sun distills a silence.
White clouds dazzle across the sky:
I walk in the blowing garden
Breaking the gay leaves under my feet . . .
Leaves have littered the marble seat
Where the lovers sat in silence:
Leaves have littered the empty seat.

Down there the blue pool, quiveringly,
Ripples the fire of the sun;
Down there the tall tree, restlessly,
Shivers beneath the sun.
Beloved, I walk alone . . .
What dream is this that sings with me,
Always in sunlight sings with me?
Out there the blue sea, glimmeringly,
Ripples among the dunes.
Blue waves streaked and chained with fire
Rustle among the dunes.

The sea-gull spreads his wings
Dizzily over the foam to skim,
And an azure shadow speeds with him.
The sea-gull folds his wings
To fall from depth to depth of air
And finds sky everywhere.