Conrad Aiken - The Charnel Rose: A Symphony: Part I lyrics

1 She rose in moonlight, and stood, confronting sea, With her bare arms uplifted, And lifted her voice in the silence foolishly: And her face was small, and her voice was small. 'O moon!' she cried, 'I think how you must tire Forever circling earth, so silently; Earth, who is dark and makes you no reply.' But the moon said nothing, no word at all, She only heard the little waves rush and fall; And saw the moon go quietly down the sky. Like a white figurehead in the seafaring wind, She stood in the moonlight, And heard her voice cry, ghostly and thinned, Over the seethe of foam, Saying 'O numberless waters, I think it strange How you can always shadow her face, and change And yet never weary of her, having no ease.' But the sea said nothing, no word at all: Unquietly, as in sleep, she saw it rise and fall; And the moon spread a net of silver over the foam. She lifted her hands and let them fall again, Impatient of the silence. And in despair, Hopeless of final answer against her pain, She said, to the stealthy air, 'O air, far traveller, who from the stars are blown, Float pollen of suns, you are an unseen sea Lifting and bearing the worlds, eternally. O air, do you not weary of your task?' --She stood in the silence, frightened and alone, And her heard syllables ask and ask. And then, as she walked in moonlight, so alone, Lost and small in a soulless sea, Hearing no voice make answer to her own, From that infinity,-- Suddenly she was aware of a low whisper, A dreadful heartless sound; and she stood still,-- There in the beach gra**, on a sandy hill,-- And heard the stars, making a ghostly whisper; And the soulless whisper of sun and moon and tree; And the sea, rising and falling with a blind moan. And as she faded into the night, A glimmer of white, With her arms uplifted and her face bowed down; Sinking, again, into the sleep of sands, The sea-sands white and brown; Or among the sea-gra** rustling as one more blade, Pushing before her face her cinquefoil hands; Or sliding, stealthy as foam, into the sea, With a slow seethe and whisper: Too late to find her, yet not too late to see, Came he, who sought forever unsatisfied, And saw her enter and shut the darkness, Desired and swift, And caught at the rays of the moon, yet found but darkness, Caught at the flash of her feet, to fill his hands With the sleepy pour of sands. 'O moon!' he said: 'was it you I followed? You, who put silver madness into my eyes? --' But he only heard, in the dark, a stifled laughter, And the rattle of dead leaves blowing. 'O wind! --' he said-- 'was it you I followed? Your hand I felt against my face? --' But he only heard, in the dark, a stifled laughter, And shadows crept past him, with furtive pace, Breathing night upon him; and one by one The ghosts of leaves flew past him, seeking the sun. And a silent star slipped golden down the darkness, Down the great wall, leaving no trace in the sky, And years went with it, and worlds. And he dreamed still Of a fleeter shadow among the shadows running, Foam into foam, without a gesture or cry, Leaving him there, alone, on a lonely hill. 2 Evening: in the twilight town One by one the stars stepped down, Each to a**ume his destined place: And there he saw the destined face. Her eyes were void, here eyes were deep: She came like one who moved in sleep: And when she looked across the night Beneath, among, those points of light, Into his heart she shot a pang, As if a voice within him sang, Sang and was silent. Down the street, And lost in darkness, fled the feet; Ambiguous, the street-lamp's gleam Mocked at her eyes: and then the dream From shuttered window, shadowed hall, Chuckled beyond a lampless wall. Among the crowding lights he went, Where faces ma**ed like lilies blent, And this time plucked and made his own Above snarled music's undertone: Breathing the perfume of her hair, He touched her arm: but suddenly there As in a dance of shadows fleeing (His eyes were shut for fear of seeing) He watched red roses drop apart Each to disclose a charnel heart. Ghostly with powder in the night, Her hand upon his arm was white: Her gown was white, and lightly blew, A gauze of flame it burned him through. Under the singing lamp she stood, And smiled in subtly fugitive mood, From depth to depth of wingless skies Withdrawing batlike down her eyes: And in his heart an echo came Of quick dust quaking under flame. Pale walls enclosed them. One light shed A yellow flicker across the bed. Loud steps rang through the street, and then The hush of night grew deep again. Two shadows on the wall made one-- What human walls were here flung down, The light extinguished as in pain, The weak light dying in the brain? Green leaves pushed up through yielding air Greedy for life: she loosed her hair With conscious and indifferent hands. . . . High on his cliff, above hard sands, He saw the moonlit ocean come In ever-inward rings of foam, Heard them break to shoot and seethe Ever inward far beneath: The ringed horizon rhythmic coming And in the moonlight silent foaming: But the dream changed: thick minutes dripped: Between his fingers a fleet light slipped: Was gone, was lost: And on the sand, or in his brain, He saw red roses fall again: Rose-wreathed skeletons advanced And clumsily lifted foot and danced: And he saw the roses drop apart Each to disclose a charnel heart. Whose were these loathed and empty eyes? Who, falling, in these wingless skies? This was not she: he rose, withdrew: One shadow on the wall made two, The human walls stood up again: Far in the night, or in his brain, He heard her whisper, felt her pa**, Shadow of spirit over gla**. 3 And a silent star slipped golden down the darkness, Taking his life with it, like a little cloud Consumed in fire and speed, diffused in darkness: Tangled and caught together, the days, the years, His voice, his lifted hands, Were ravelled and sped; where, by the sea, he bowed And dreamed of the foam that crept back into the sea, And the wandering leaves that soared back into the tree. 4 Roses, he thought, were kin to her, Pure text of dust; and learning these He might more surely win to her, Speak her own tongue to pledge and please. What vernal kinship, then, was this That spoke and perished in a breath? In leaves, she was near enough to kiss, And yet, impalpable as d**h. Spading dark earth, he tore apart Exquisite roots: she fled from him. Her stigma, in the crocus heart, Probed for delicately, would swim Lazily faint away on air, Not to be caught or held: she fled Before him, wavering, everywhere, A summer's secret behind her shed. Music? He found it under earth, Quick veins of fire: he heard her sing. Upward it broke, a springing mirth, A fugitive and amazing thing, It flashed before his crazy feet, He danced upon it, it would not stay, His hands against its brightness beat, But still it broke in light away. O bird--he cried--if bird you are, Keep still those frantic wings a while! . . . Thus dancing for the evening star, In hope to capture it by guile. 5 The moon rose, and the moon set; And the stars rushed up and whirled and set; And again they swarmed, after a shaft of sunlight; And the blue dusk closed above him, like an ocean of regret. White trident fires were lit on the tops of towers; Monstrous and black the towers broke the sky. The ghostly fountain shot and tumbled in showers; Gaunt leaves turned down above it, thirstily. The gold fish, and the fish with fins of silver, Quivered in lamplight, rose with sinister eye, And darted into the darkness, silently. The faces that looked at him were his own faces, They streamed along the streets, they licked like fire, Flowed with undulant paces, Reflected in the darkness stared at him, Contemplative, despairing, Swept silently aside, becoming dim, With a vague impotent gesture at the sky, Uncontrolled and little caring; And he watched them with an introspective eye. To shape this world of leaderless ghostly pa**ions-- Or else be mobbed by it--there was the question: Green leaves above him whispered the slow question, Black ripples on the pool chuckled of pa**ions. And between the uneasy shoulders of two trees, Huge, against impalpable gust of blue, A golden star slid down to leafy seas, A star he somehow knew. Youths tripped after him, laughing, but he fled them: He heard them mock him, in affected tones. Their lamia mouthes, so smiling, bade him fear them. His own face leered at him, with timid lust, Was overwhelmed in night. He turned aside, and walked in graveyard dust,-- In the dew-dabbled, clinging dust,-- And terror seized him, seeing the stones so white; And the wet gra**, frozen and motionless in the moonlight; And the green-tongued moonlight, crawling in thick dust. Was it murky vapor, here, that dulled the stars?-- Or his own guilty breath that clouded heaven?-- Pale hands struck down with spades. And it was he, with dew upon his face, Who dug the foul earth in that dripping place, Turning his back on heaven. And it was he who found the desired dead; And kissed the languid head; While shadows frisked about him in moonlight, Whirled and capered and leapt, Caught each other and mimicked lust in the moonlight, In the dew-wet dust, above the dead who slept. But this--was it this he rose from and desired? Black mould of leaves clung wetly about his feet. He was lost, and alone, and tired, A mist curled round him coldly, touched his face, Shadows with eyes were gathering in that place; And he dreamed of a lamplit street. But roses fell through the darkness, They writhed before him out of the mould, Opened their hearts to pour out darkness, Darkness of flesh, of lust grown old. He struggled against them, beat, Broke them with hands to feel the blood flow warm, Reeled, when they opened their hearts, Feeling them with their eyes closed push and swarm, Thronging about his throat, pressing his mouth, Beating his temples, choking his breath . . . Help, you stars!--wet darkness showered upon him. He was dissolved in a deep cold dream of d**h. White fires were lit upon the tops of towers, The towers shouldered the sky: The ghostly fountain shot and tumbled in showers, Gaunt leaves leaned down above it, thirstily. And he looked with laughter upon the lamplit ripples Each with its little image of the light, And thought the minds of men were like black ripples, Ripples of darkness, darkly huddled in night, Each of them with its image of lamp or star, Thinking itself the star. And it seemed to him, as he looked upon them, laughing, That he was the star they all in fright reflected. He was the god who had been rejected, Stoned and trampled upon in a filthy street, Hung up in lamplight for young men to beat, Cursed and spat upon; and all for saying There was no life save life of fast and praying. Or had he been a beggar, with bare feet? Or a cruel ascetic, trampling roses down? . . . Roses are d**h! he cried. He turned in hatred, And saw red fires burst up above the town; And a swarm of faces rising, green with hatred. And silence descended, on dripping trees: And dew-spats slowly spat from leaves to stones. He had walked these gardens, he thought, before. The fountain chuckled; The leaves rustled, in whispers, along a shore. And the moon rose, and the moon set; And the stars rushed up, and swarmed, and set; And again they swarmed, after a shaft of sunlight; And the blue dusk closed above him, like an ocean of regret.