Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=358624" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The House Of Dust: Part 02: 02: The Fulfilled Dream</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">More towers must yet be built&mdash;more towers destroyed&mdash;<br>Great rocks hoisted in air;<br>And he must seek his bread in high pale sunlight<br>With gulls about him, and clouds just over his eyes . . .<br>And so he did not mention his dream of falling<br>But drank his coffee in silence, and heard in his ears<br>That horrible whistle of wind, and felt his breath<br>Sucked out of him, and saw the tower flash by<br>And the small tree swell beneath him . . .<br>He patted his boy on the head, and kissed his wife,<br>Looked quickly around the room, to remember it,&mdash;<br>And so went out . . . For once, he forgot his pail.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Something had changed&mdash;but it was not the street&mdash;<br>The street was just the same&mdash;it was himself.<br>Puddles flashed in the sun. In the pawn-shop door<br>The same old black cat winked green amber eyes;<br>The butcher stood by his window tying his apron;<br>The same men walked beside him, smoking pipes,<br>Reading the morning paper . . .</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He would not yield, he thought, and walk more slowly,<br>As if he knew for certain he walked to death:<br>But with his usual pace,&mdash;deliberate, firm,<br>Looking about him calmly, watching the world,<br>Taking his ease . . . Yet, when he thought again<br>Of the same dream, now dreamed three separate times,<br>Always the same, and heard that whistling wind,<br>And saw the windows flashing upward past him,&mdash;<br>He slowed his pace a little, and thought with horror<br>How monstrously that small tree thrust to meet him! . . .<br>He slowed his pace a little and remembered his wife.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Was forty, then, too old for work like this?<br>Why should it be? He'd never been afraid&mdash;<br>His eye was sure, his hand was steady . . .<br>But dreams had meanings.<br>He walked more slowly, and looked along the roofs,<br>All built by men, and saw the pale blue sky;<br>And suddenly he was dizzy with looking at it,<br>It seemed to whirl and swim,<br>It seemed the color of terror, of speed, of death . . .<br>He lowered his eyes to the stones, he walked more slowly;<br>His thoughts were blown and scattered like leaves;<br>He thought of the pail . . . Why, then, was it forgotten?<br>Because he would not need it?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then, just as he was grouping his thoughts again<br>About that drug-store corner, under an arc-lamp,<br>Where first he met the girl whom he would marry,&mdash;<br>That blue-eyed innocent girl, in a soft blouse,&mdash;<br>He waved his hand for signal, and up he went<br>In the dusty chute that hugged the wall;<br>Above the tree; from girdered floor to floor;<br>Above the flattening roofs, until the sea<br>Lay wide and waved before him . . . And then he stepped<br>Giddily out, from that security,<br>To the red rib of iron against the sky,<br>And walked along it, feeling it sing and tremble;<br>And looking down one instant, saw the tree<br>Just as he dreamed it was; and looked away,<br>And up again, feeling his blood go wild.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He gave the signal; the long girder swung<br>Closer to him, dropped clanging into place,<br>Almost pushing him off. Pneumatic hammers<br>Began their madhouse clatter, the white-hot rivets<br>Were tossed from below and deftly caught in pails;<br>He signalled again, and wiped his mouth, and thought<br>A place so high in the air should be more quiet.<br>The tree, far down below, teased at his eyes,<br>Teased at the corners of them, until he looked,<br>And felt his body go suddenly small and light;<br>Felt his brain float off like a dwindling vapor;<br>And heard a whistle of wind, and saw a tree<br>Come plunging up to him, and thought to himself,<br>'By God&mdash;I'm done for now, the dream was right . . .'</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=358624" data-title="The House Of Dust: Part 02: 02: The Fulfilled Dream de Conrad Potter Aiken" data-description="More towers must yet be built&mdash;more towers destroyed&mdash;
Great rocks hoisted in air;
And he must seek his bread in high pale sunlight
With gulls about him, and clouds just over his eyes . . .
And so he did not mention his dream of falling
..."></div>
</div>
</div>