Chapter 5
Poem Number Five of Thirty American Poems by Varius A Chorus Girl by Edward Estlin Cummings This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Reading by Matt Perard A Chorus Girl
When thou hast taken thy last applause, and when the final curtain strikes the world away, Leaving to shadowy silence and dismay, That stage which shall not know thy smile again, Lingering a little while, while I see thee then, Ponder the tensile part they let thee play,
I see thee red mouth, tarnished, the face gray, And smileless silent eyes of Magdalen. The lights have laughed their last, without the street, Darkly awaiteth her whose feet have trod, The silly souls of men to golden dust,
She pauses on the lintel of defeat, Her heart breaks in a smile, and she is lust. Mine also, Little Painted Poem of God This is the garden, colors come and go, Frail azures fluttering from night's outer wind,
Strong silent greens serenely lingering, Absolute lights like baths of golden snow, This is the garden, pursed lips do blow, Upon cool flutes within wide glooms and sing, Of harps, celestial, to the quivering string,
Invisible faces hauntingly and slow. This is the garden, time shall surely reap, And on death's blade lie many a flower curled, In other lands where other songs be sung. Yet stand they here, enraptured,
As among the slow deep trees, perpetual of sleep, Some silver-fingered fountain steals the world. It may not always be so, and I say that if your lips, Which I have loved, should touch another's, And your dear strong fingers clutch his heart,
As mine in time not far away, If on another's face your sweet hair lay, In such a silence as I know, Or such great writhing words as uttering overmuch, Stand helplessly before the spirit at bay,
If this should be, I say, if this should be, You of my heart send me a little word, That I may go unto him and take his hands, Saying, Accept all happiness from me, Then shall I turn my face and hear one bird,
Sing terribly afar in the lost lands.
