Quote #36
Each gleaming point of light is like a seed Dilating swiftly to coiling fires. Each cloud becomes a rapidly dimming face, Each hurrying face records its strange desires.
More from Conrad Aiken
- We rub the darkness from our eyes, And face our thousand devious secret mornings . . . And do not see how the pale mist, slowly ascending, …
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- We reach vague-gesturing hands, we lift our heads, Hear sounds far off,-and dream, with quivering breath, Our curious separate ways through…
- Something had changed-but it was not the street- The street was just the same-it was himself.
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- Was forty, then, too old for work like this? Why should it be? He'd never been afraid- His eye was sure, his hand was steady . . . But drea…