Conrad Aiken Quotes

A collection of quotes by Conrad Aiken.

Conrad Aiken (1889-1973) was an American poet, novelist, and critic. Born in Savannah, Georgia, he had a tumultuous childhood marked by his parents' divorce and his father's murder-suicide. Aiken's poetic style evolved from traditional to modernist, influenced by T.S. Eliot and Ezra Pound. His notable works include "Selected Poems" (1929), "Ushant: An Essay" (1952), and his autobiographical novel, "Ushant" (1952), which won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. Aiken's writing explored themes of loss, identity, and human nature. He made significant contributions to American literature and was highly regarded by his contemporaries.

Music I heard with you was more than music, and bread I brok

Music I heard with you was more than music, and bread I broke with you was more than bread. Now that I am without you, all is desolate all that was once so beautiful is dead.

The poet walked alone in a cold late rain, And thought his g

The poet walked alone in a cold late rain, And thought his grief was like the crying of sea-birds; For his lover was dead, he never would love again.

Over the darkened city, the city of towers, The city of a th

Over the darkened city, the city of towers, The city of a thousand gates, Over the gleaming terraced roofs, the huddled towers, Over a somnolent whisper of loves and hates, The slow wind flows, drearily streams and falls, With a mournful sound down rain-dark walls.

What was this dream we had, a dream of music, Music that ros

What was this dream we had, a dream of music, Music that rose from the opening earth like magic And shook its beauty upon us and died away? The long cold streets extend once more before us. The red sun drops, the walls grow grey.

Music Beauty Dreams Magic

And, growing tired, we turn aside at last, Remember our secr

And, growing tired, we turn aside at last, Remember our secret selves, seek out our towers, Lay weary hands on the banisters, and climb; Climbing, each, to his little four-square dream Of love or lust or beauty or death or crime.

Death Beauty Love Dreams Crime

The young boy whistles, hurrying down the street, The young

The young boy whistles, hurrying down the street, The young girl hums beneath her breath. One goes out to beauty, and does not know it. And one goes out to death.

All lovely things will have an ending, All lovely things wil

All lovely things will have an ending, All lovely things will fade and die; And youth, that's now so bravely spending, Will beg a penny by and by.