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Conrad Potter Aiken - From: Preludes for Memnon
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LXII

I read the primrose and the sea
                                    and remember nothing
I read Arcturus and the snow
                                    and remember nothing
I read the green and white book of spring
                                    and remember nothing
I read the hatred in a man’s eye
                                    Lord, I remember nothing.

Scorn spat at me and spoke
                                    I remember it not
The river was frozen round the ship
                                    I remember it not
I found a secret message in a blade of grass
                                    and it is forgotten
I called my lovers by their sweet names
                                    they are all forgotten.

Where are my lovers now?
                                    buried in me.
The blades of grass, the ships, the scorners?
                                    here in me
The haters in the spring, snow and Arcturus?
                                    here in me
The primrose and the sea?
                                    here in me.

I know what humans know
                                    no less no more
I know how the summer breaks
                                    on Neptune’s shore
I know how winter freezes
                                    the Milky Way
My heart’s home is in Limbo
                                    and there I stay.

Praise Limbo, heart, and praise
                                    forgetfulness
We know what the tiger knows
                                    no more no less
We know what the primrose thinks
                                    and think it too
We walk when the snail walks
                                    across the dew.

I was a rash man in my time
                                    but now I am still
I spoke with god’s voice once
                                    now I am still
Evil made my right hand strong
                                    which now is still
Wisdom gave me pride once,
                                    but it is still.

Lie down poor heart at last
                                    and have your rest
Remember to forget
                                    and have your rest
Think of yourself as once you were
                                    at your best
And then lie down alone
                                    and have your rest.

These things are as time weaves them
                                    on his loom
Forgot, forgetting, we survive not
                                    mortal bloom
Let us give thanks, to space,
                                    for a little room
Space is our face and time our death
                                    two poles of doom

Come dance around the compass
                                    pointing north
Before, face downward, frozen,
                                    we go forth.

LXIII

Thus systole addressed diastole,—
The heart contracting, with its grief of burden,
To the lax heart, with grief of burden gone.

Thus star to dead leaf speaks; thus cliff to sea;
And thus the spider, on a summer’s day,
To the bright thistledown, trapped in the web.

No language leaps this chasm like a lightning:
Here is no message of assuagement, blown
From Ecuador to Greenland; here is only

A trumpet blast, that calls dead men to arms;
The granite’s pity for the cloud; the whisper
Of time to space.
Source
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