<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=358551" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Chiaroscuro: Rose</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">He</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fill your bowl with roses: the bowl, too, have of crystal. <br>Sit at the western window. Take the sun <br>Between your hands like a ball of flaming crystal, <br>Poise it to let it fall, but hold it still, <br>And meditate on the beauty of your existence; <br>The beauty of this, that you exist at all. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sun goes down, -- but without lamentation. <br>I close my eyes, and the stream of my sensation <br>In this, at least, grows clear to me: <br>Beauty is a word that has no meaning. <br>Beauty is naught to me. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The last blurred raindrops fall from the half-clear sky, <br>Eddying lightly, rose-tinged, in the windless wake of the sun. <br>The swallow ascending against cold waves of cloud <br>Seems winging upward over huge bleak stairs of stone. <br>The raindrop finds its way to the heart of the leaf-bud. <br>But no word finds its way to the heart of you. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This also is clear in the stream of my sensation: <br>That I am content, for the moment, Let me be. <br>How light the new grass looks with the rain-dust on it! <br>But heart is a word that has no meaning, <br>Heart means nothing to me. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To the end of the world I pass and back again <br>In flights of the mind; yet always find you here, <br>Remote, pale, unattached . . . O Circe-too-clear-eyed, <br>Watching amused your fawning tiger-thoughts, <br>Your wolves, your grotesque apes -- relent, relent! <br>Be less wary for once: it is the evening. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But if I close my eyes what howlings greet me! <br>Do not persuade. Be tranquil. Here is flesh <br>With all its demons. Take it, sate yourself. <br>But leave my thoughts to me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Conrad+Potter+Aiken">Conrad Potter Aiken</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=358551" data-title="Chiaroscuro: Rose de Conrad Potter Aiken" data-description="He Fill your bowl with roses: the bowl, too, have of crystal. Sit at the western window. Take the sun Between your hands like a ball of flaming crystal, Poise it to let it fall, but hold it still, And meditate on the beauty of your existence;..."></div> </div> </div>

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