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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=358653" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The House Of Dust: Part 04: 07: The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.<br>The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:<br>And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.<br>A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.<br>Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,<br>The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,<br>And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.<br>The purple lights leap down the hill before him.<br>The gorgeous night has begun again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,<br>I will hold my light above them and seek their faces,<br>I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins. . . . '<br>The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,<br>Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,<br>Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We hear him and take him among us like a wind of music,<br>Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;<br>We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,<br>We pour in a sinister mass, we ascend a stair,<br>With laughter and cry, with word upon murmured word,<br>We flow, we descend, we turn. . . . and the eternal dreamer<br>Moves on among us like light, like evening air . . .</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Good night! good night! good night! we go our ways,<br>The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,<br>The cold rain falls, the rain sings.<br>We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces<br>To what the eternal evening brings.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,<br>We have built a tower of stone high into the sky.<br>We have built a city of towers.<br>Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.<br>Our souls are light. They have shaken a burden of hours. . . .<br>What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .<br>Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .<br>And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;<br>Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;<br>And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.</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>
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<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=358653" data-title="The House Of Dust: Part 04: 07: The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light de Conrad Potter Aiken" data-description="The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken..."></div>
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