PART IV. THE CALM IRRADIATIONS I The spattering of the rain upon pale terraces Of afternoon is like the passing of a dream Amid the roses shuddering 'gainst the wet green stalks Of the streaming trees--the passing of the wind Upon the pale lower terraces of my dream Is like the crinkling of the wet grey robes Of the hours that come to turn over the urn Of the day and spill its rainy dream. Vague movement over the puddled terraces: Heavy gold pennons--a pomp of solemn gardens Half hidden under the liquid veil of spring: Far trumpets like a vague rout of faded roses Burst 'gainst the wet green silence of distant forests: A clash of cymbals--then the swift swaying footsteps Of the wind that undulates along the languid terraces. Pools of rain--the vacant terraces Wet, chill and glistening Towards the sunset beyond the broken doors of to-day. II Gaunt sails--bronze boats of the evening-- Float along the river where aloft Like dim swans the clouds die Softly. I am afraid to traverse the long still streets of evening; For I fear to see the ghosts that stare at me From the shadows. I will stay indoors instead and await my wandering dream. She is about me, fluid yet, and formless; The wind in her hair whispers like dim violins: And the faint glint of her eyes shifts like a sudden movement Over the surface of a dark pool. She comes to me slowly down the lost streets of the evening, And their immutable silence is in her feet. Let no lamps flare--be still, my heart--hands, stay: For I would touch the lips of my new love with my lips. III In the grey skirts of the fog seamews skirl desolately, And flick like bits of paper propelled by a wind About the flabby sails of a departing ship Crawling slowly down the low reaches Of the river. About the keel there is a bubbling and gurgling Of grumpy water; And as the prow noses out a way for itself, It seems to weave a dream of bubbles and flashing foam, A dream of strange islands whereto it is bound: Pear-islands drenched with the dawn. The palms flash under the immense dark sky, Down which the sun dives to embrace the earth: Drums boom and conches bray, And with a crash of crimson cymbals Suddenly appears above the polished backs of slaves A king in a breastplate of gold Gigantic Amid tossed roses and swaying dancers That melt into pale undulations and muffled echoes 'Mid the bubbling of the muddy lumpy water, And the swirling of the seamews above the sullen river. IV The iridescent vibrations of midsummer light Dancing, dancing, suddenly flickering and quivering Like little feet or the movement of quick hands clapping, Or the rustle of furbelows or the clash of polished gems. The palpitant mosaic of the midday light Colliding, sliding, leaping and lingering: O, I could lie on my back all day, And mark the mad ballet of the midsummer sky. V