PORTRAIT+OF+A+LADY

(credit to [|bartelby.com] for the online version of the poem)
 * || //Thou hast committed—// ||
 * || //Fornication: but that was in another country,// ||
 * || //And besides, the wench is dead.// ||
 * || The Jew of Malta. || ||

AMONG the smoke and fog of a December afternoon || || Now that lilacs are in bloom || || The October night comes down; returning as before || ||
 * I
 * I
 * You have the scene arrange itself——as it will seem to do— || ||
 * With “I have saved this afternoon for you”; || ||
 * And four wax candles in the darkened room, || ||
 * Four rings of light upon the ceiling overhead, || //5// ||
 * An atmosphere of Juliet’s tomb || ||
 * Prepared for all the things to be said, or left unsaid. || ||
 * We have been, let us say, to hear the latest Pole || ||
 * Transmit the Preludes, through his hair and finger-tips. || ||
 * “So intimate, this Chopin, that I think his soul || //10// ||
 * Should be resurrected only among friends || ||
 * Some two or three, who will not touch the bloom || ||
 * That is rubbed and questioned in the concert room.” || ||
 * —And so the conversation slips || ||
 * Among velleities and carefully caught regrets || //15// ||
 * Through attenuated tones of violins || ||
 * Mingled with remote cornets || ||
 * And begins. || ||
 * “You do not know how much they mean to me, my friends, || ||
 * And how, how rare and strange it is, to find || //20// ||
 * In a life composed so much, so much of odds and ends, || ||
 * (For indeed I do not love it … you knew? you are not blind! || ||
 * How keen you are!) || ||
 * To find a friend who has these qualities, || ||
 * Who has, and gives || //25// ||
 * Those qualities upon which friendship lives. || ||
 * How much it means that I say this to you— || ||
 * Without these friendships—life, what //cauchemar!”// || ||
 * Among the windings of the violins || ||
 * And the ariettes || //30// ||
 * Of cracked cornets || ||
 * Inside my brain a dull tom-tom begins || ||
 * Absurdly hammering a prelude of its own, || ||
 * Capricious monotone || ||
 * That is at least one definite “false note.” || //35// ||
 * —Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance, || ||
 * Admire the monuments, || ||
 * Discuss the late events, || ||
 * Correct our watches by the public clocks. || ||
 * Then sit for half an hour and drink our bocks. || //40// ||
 * II
 * II
 * II
 * She has a bowl of lilacs in her room || ||
 * And twists one in her fingers while she talks. || ||
 * “Ah, my friend, you do not know, you do not know || ||
 * What life is, you who hold it in your hands”; || //45// ||
 * (Slowly twisting the lilac stalks) || ||
 * “You let it flow from you, you let it flow, || ||
 * And youth is cruel, and has no remorse || ||
 * And smiles at situations which it cannot see.” || ||
 * I smile, of course, || //50// ||
 * And go on drinking tea. || ||
 * “Yet with these April sunsets, that somehow recall || ||
 * My buried life, and Paris in the Spring, || ||
 * I feel immeasurably at peace, and find the world || ||
 * To be wonderful and youthful, after all.” || //55// ||
 * The voice returns like the insistent out-of-tune || ||
 * Of a broken violin on an August afternoon: || ||
 * “I am always sure that you understand || ||
 * My feelings, always sure that you feel, || ||
 * Sure that across the gulf you reach your hand. || //60// ||
 * You are invulnerable, you have no Achilles’ heel. || ||
 * You will go on, and when you have prevailed || ||
 * You can say: at this point many a one has failed. || ||
 * But what have I, but what have I, my friend, || ||
 * To give you, what can you receive from me? || //65// ||
 * Only the friendship and the sympathy || ||
 * Of one about to reach her journey’s end. || ||
 * I shall sit here, serving tea to friends.…” || ||
 * I take my hat: how can I make a cowardly amends || ||
 * For what she has said to me? || //70// ||
 * You will see me any morning in the park || ||
 * Reading the comics and the sporting page. || ||
 * Particularly I remark || ||
 * An English countess goes upon the stage. || ||
 * A Greek was murdered at a Polish dance, || //75// ||
 * Another bank defaulter has confessed. || ||
 * I keep my countenance, || ||
 * I remain self-possessed || ||
 * Except when a street piano, mechanical and tired || ||
 * Reiterates some worn-out common song || //80// ||
 * With the smell of hyacinths across the garden || ||
 * Recalling things that other people have desired. || ||
 * Are these ideas right or wrong? || ||
 * III
 * Reiterates some worn-out common song || //80// ||
 * With the smell of hyacinths across the garden || ||
 * Recalling things that other people have desired. || ||
 * Are these ideas right or wrong? || ||
 * III
 * III
 * Except for a slight sensation of being ill at ease || //85// ||
 * I mount the stairs and turn the handle of the door || ||
 * And feel as if I had mounted on my hands and knees. || ||
 * “And so you are going abroad; and when do you return? || ||
 * But that’s a useless question. || ||
 * You hardly know when you are coming back, || //90// ||
 * You will find so much to learn.” || ||
 * My smile falls heavily among the bric-à-brac. || ||
 * “Perhaps you can write to me.” || ||
 * My self-possession flares up for a second; || ||
 * //This// is as I had reckoned. || //95// ||
 * “I have been wondering frequently of late || ||
 * (But our beginnings never know our ends!) || ||
 * Why we have not developed into friends.” || ||
 * I feel like one who smiles, and turning shall remark || ||
 * Suddenly, his expression in a glass. || //100// ||
 * My self-possession gutters; we are really in the dark. || ||
 * “For everybody said so, all our friends, || ||
 * They all were sure our feelings would relate || ||
 * So closely! I myself can hardly understand. || ||
 * We must leave it now to fate. || //105// ||
 * You will write, at any rate. || ||
 * Perhaps it is not too late. || ||
 * I shall sit here, serving tea to friends.” || ||
 * And I must borrow every changing shape || ||
 * To find expression … dance, dance || //110// ||
 * Like a dancing bear, || ||
 * Cry like a parrot, chatter like an ape. || ||
 * Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance— || ||
 * Well! and what if she should die some afternoon, || ||
 * Afternoon grey and smoky, evening yellow and rose; || //115// ||
 * Should die and leave me sitting pen in hand || ||
 * With the smoke coming down above the housetops; || ||
 * Doubtful, for quite a while || ||
 * Not knowing what to feel or if I understand || ||
 * Or whether wise or foolish, tardy or too soon… || //120// ||
 * Would she not have the advantage, after all? || ||
 * This music is successful with a “dying fall” || ||
 * Now that we talk of dying— || ||
 * And should I have the right to smile? ||
 * Would she not have the advantage, after all? || ||
 * This music is successful with a “dying fall” || ||
 * Now that we talk of dying— || ||
 * And should I have the right to smile? ||