The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
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See, as the carver carves a rose,
A wing, a toad, a serpent's eye,
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I.
Moonlight silvers the tops of trees,
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It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning
When the light drips through the shutters like the dew,
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Southeast, and storm, and every weathervane
shivers and moans upon its dripping pin,
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It is moonlight. Alone in the silence
I ascend my stairs once more,
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Beloved, let us once more praise the rain.
Let us discover some new alphabet,
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Fanfare of northwest wind, a bluejay wind
announces autumn, and the equinox
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She rose in moonlight, and stood, confronting sea,
With her bare arms uplifted,
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Senlin sits before us, and we see him.
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1
I am a house, says Senlin, locked and darkened,
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Senlin sat before us and we heard him.
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The girl in the room beneath
Before going to bed
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I. (Bread and Music)
Music I heard with you was more than music,
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All lovely things will have an ending,
All lovely things will fade and die,
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Fill your bowl with roses: the bowl, too, have of crystal.
Sit at the western window. Take the sun
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After the movie, when the lights come up,
He takes her powdered hand behind the wings;
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He thinks her little feet should pass
Where dandelions star thickly grass;
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Here on the pale beach, in the darkness;
With the full moon just to rise;
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When she came out, that white little Russian dancer,
With her bright hair, and her eyes, so young, so young,
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Behold me, in my chiffon, gauze, and tinsel,
Flitting out of the shadow into the spotlight,
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Through that window—all else being extinct
Except itself and me—I saw the struggle
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She looks out in the blue morning
and sees a whole wonderful world
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I
In the pale mauve twilight, streaked with orange,
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Twilight is spacious, near things in it seem far,
And distant things seem near.
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Red is the color of blood, and I will seek it:
I have sought it in the grass.
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When I was a boy, and saw bright rows of icicles
In many lengths along a wall
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Knock on the door, and you shall have an answer!
Open the heavy walls to set me free,
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In the mazes of loitering people, the watchful and furtive,
The shadows of tree-trunks and shadows of leaves,
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Gracious and lovable and sweet,
She made his jaded pulses beat
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