Poem by Arthur William Symons

Grey Hours: Naples

There are some hours when I seem so indifferent; all things fade
To an indifferent greyness, like that grey of the sky;
Always at evening-ends, on grey days; and I know not why,
But life, and art, and love, and death, are the shade of a shade.
Then, in those hours, I hear old voices murmur aloud,
And memory forgoes desire, too weary at heart for regret;
Dreams come with beckoning fingers, and I forget to forget;
The world as a cloud drifts by, or I drift by as a cloud.

1. Pastel: Masks and Faces
2. At Glan-y-Wern
3. Behind the Scenes: Empire
4. The Andante of Snakes
5. Haschisch

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