<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=343769" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Dinner-Party</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fish</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'So . . .' they said,<br>With their wine-glasses delicately poised,<br>Mocking at the thing they cannot understand.<br>'So . . .' they said again,<br>Amused and insolent.<br>The silver on the table glittered,<br>And the red wine in the glasses<br>Seemed the blood I had wasted<br>In a foolish cause.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Game</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The gentleman with the grey-and-black whiskers<br>Sneered languidly over his quail.<br>Then my heart flew up and laboured,<br>And I burst from my own holding<br>And hurled myself forward.<br>With straight blows I beat upon him,<br>Furiously, with red-hot anger, I thrust against him.<br>But my weapon slithered over his polished surface,<br>And I recoiled upon myself,<br>Panting.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Drawing-Room<br>In a dress all softness and half-tones,<br>Indolent and half-reclined,<br>She lay upon a couch,<br>With the firelight reflected in her jewels.<br>But her eyes had no reflection,<br>They swam in a grey smoke,<br>The smoke of smouldering ashes,<br>The smoke of her cindered heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Coffee</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They sat in a circle with their coffee-cups.<br>One dropped in a lump of sugar,<br>One stirred with a spoon.<br>I saw them as a circle of ghosts<br>Sipping blackness out of beautiful china,<br>And mildly protesting against my coarseness<br>In being alive.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Talk</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They took dead men's souls<br>And pinned them on their breasts for ornament;<br>Their cuff-links and tiaras<br>Were gems dug from a grave;<br>They were ghouls battening on exhumed thoughts;<br>And I took a green liqueur from a servant<br>So that he might come near me<br>And give me the comfort of a living thing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Eleven O'Clock</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The front door was hard and heavy,<br>It shut behind me on the house of ghosts.<br>I flattened my feet on the pavement<br>To feel it solid under me;<br>I ran my hand along the railings<br>And shook them,<br>And pressed their pointed bars<br>Into my palms.<br>The hurt of it reassured me,<br>And I did it again and again<br>Until they were bruised.<br>When I woke in the night<br>I laughed to find them aching,<br>For only living flesh can suffer.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Amy+Lowell">Amy Lowell</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=343769" data-title="The Dinner-Party de Amy Lowell" data-description="Fish 'So . . .' they said, With their wine-glasses delicately poised, Mocking at the thing they cannot understand. 'So . . .' they said again, Amused and insolent. The silver on the table glittered, And the red wine in the glasses Seemed the bloo..."></div> </div> </div>

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