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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE CITY: 2. THE CITY, by STIRLING BOWEN First Line: And now I roam the wide and thronging square Last Line: One listening, for what no one can say. Subject(s): Cities; Solitude; Urban Life; Loneliness | |||
And now I roam the wide and thronging square; And now a street where dingy houses stare In silence on me as I hurry by, Their shades drawn close against the friendly sky, Drawn close against the trees, forbidding me. But I have never known desire to see Behind those blinds, content to speculate On things that could not be. So satiate With beauty do I grow in crowded places That in my sleep I count a thousand faces Viewing me with enigmatic eyes. And I have never cared to realize What mysteries compressed the lips that passed, What secrets moved them, smiling or aghast. For I have been too lost within the crowd, This unreality that speaks aloud No word, but whispers, whispers on, and seems A cloud of sleep with rainy eyes of dreams. So often still I wonder where she went, She whom I followed, whom the city sent To find me, whom I sought and could not find. I wonder who she is, of what strange mind Or spirit, in what place or mood she dwells. Yet she is gone, no longer now compels Pursuit of her, although I think her near Within this city that I love and fear, Just as I loved and feared so long ago The music that she sang, that haunted so. I see the throngs go in a room to dine, I start away alone to enter mine. But always I return to watch the faces, Have them sweep me on to other places, Close to me, far-off, and close again, Women, little children, and the men. And then at night, at night, I love to walk Where buildings rise like pale white towers of chalk And where below my shadow creeps with me, When down the street as far as I can see There is no living thing and I alone Am lost within this labyrinth of stone. I love to wander where the ways are dark And where there is no light or sign to mark Where I am going hither, whence I came, And where there is no voice or any name. And so it shall be always to the last. Whoever come for me, however fast They follow where I go, they must return Without me in the end. And they shall learn That I shall be henceforward just a pale Remembrance of a face, with lips that fail To answer and with eyes that turn away, One listening, for what no one can say. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN ABEYANCE by DENISE LEVERTOV IN A VACANT HOUSE by PHILIP LEVINE SUNDAY ALONE IN A FIFTH FLOOR APARTMENT, CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS by WILLIAM MATTHEWS |
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