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Persuasions #2, 1980 Page 21 AN IMAGE FOR JANE AUSTEN by Michael D. Riley
The old storm raged long: It sent spray two streets back from the ramparts Of Portsmouth, where the ships spun in a drunken reel, Bobbing like corks; casks of claret and Madeira Split and disgorged; spilled China tea Lent fragrance to the rolling holds. The wind screamed against Lyme’s pale cliffs, Splintering the bathing machines And sending their boards to sea. Throughout our island estate trees bent like wheat
And broke, where deer huddled in dread.
Inside we kept alive: Thunder behind the damask added counterpoint To the regulated contra-dance from the pianoforte. Conversation crackled like the fire And filled the room with conscious warmth. (Yet that shivering windowpane. Somewhere lives a liar: Everywhere.) Crystal sparkled, the candles and the ladies glowed, The moon was crisp: silk rustled in our veins, The mantel glowed. A kinsman’s countenance In ivory shifted in the glimmer of the fire From smile to frown and back again,
The talk went on, and filled the air.
The group was small, intimate by desire. Yet great mirrors on the walls multiplied the light And made us seem a crowd. The assembled harmonies of the contra-dance arose And soon assembled us: rhythm cast us all together, Feet, hands, and eyes until our narrow room began to move As each heart does when, for once, it feels and knows Together, stealing moments of illumination, and of love, Emerging with the valid minimum we do: Come together in a hollow house when the winds blow Wildly through the garden roses, and the hedgerows Cling together; when the petals and leaves Strew themselves insanely all along the formal paths, And the great oak in the center splits, yet stands.
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