By The Fire

A poem by Aldous Huxley (1894 – 1963)

We who are lovers sit by the fire,

Cradled warm ‘twixt thought and will,

Sit and drowse like sleeping dogs

In the equipoise of all desire,

Sit and listen to the still

Small hiss and whisper of green logs

That burn away, that burn away

With the sound of a far-off falling stream

Of threaded water blown to steam,

Grey ghost in the mountain world of grey.

Vapours blue as distance rise

Between the hissing logs that show

A glimpse of rosy heat below;

And candles watch with tireless eyes

While we sit drowsing here. I know,

Dimly, that there exists a world,

That there is time perhaps, and space

Other and wider than this place,

Where at the fireside drowsily curled

We hear the whisper and watch the flame

Burn blinkless and inscrutable.

And then I know those other names

That through my brain from cell to cell

Echo–reverberated shout

Of waiters mournful along corridors:

But nobody carries the orders out,

And the names (dear friends, your name and yours)

Evoke no sign. But here I sit

On the wide hearth, and there are you:

That is enough and only true.

The world and the friends that lived in it

Are shadows: you alone remain

Real in this drowsing room,

Full of the whispers of distant rain

And candles staring into the gloom.

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Poems in English 

• This Moment, Yearning and Thoughtful. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• This Dust was Once the Man. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• This Day, O Soul. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• This Compost. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Think of the Soul. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Thick-Sprinkled Bunting. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• These, I, Singing in Spring. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• There was a Child went Forth. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• The Wound-Dresser by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• That Shadow, my Likeness. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• That Music Always Round Me. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Tests. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Tears. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Still, though the One I Sing. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• States! by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Starting from Paumanok. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Spontaneous Me. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Spirit whose Work is Done. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Spirit That Form’d This Scene. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman
• Sparkles from The Wheel. by Walt Whitman by Walt Whitman

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Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

 

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