Biography of Evelyn Scott
Evelyn Scott (January 17, 1893–1963) was an American novelist, playwright and poet. She also wrote under the pseudonyms Ernest Souza and Elsie Dunn.
Evelyn Scott Poems
I am lost in the vast cave of night. No sound but the far-off tinkle of stars, And the cry of a bird Muffled in shadows.
Black brooms of trees sweep the sky clean; Sweep the house fronts, And heave them bleak in sleep.
The moon is as complacent as a frog. She sits in the sky like a blind white stone, And does not even see Love
Where I used to be I could hear the sea. The black ragged palm fronds flung themselves against the twilight sky. The moon stared up from the water like a fish's eye.
The drift of shadows on the mountainside, Blue and purple gold! Purple dust sifting through fingers of ivory:
Oh, that mysterious singing sadness of youth! Exotic colors in the lamplit darkness of wet streets, Musk and roses in the twilight, The moon in the park like a golden balloon ...
Rain in the Mountains
Like inexorable peace, The mists march through the mountains. One by one the grim peaks sink into the cold arms of the unspoken. The little town with the pink and white houses
Sunset: Battery Park
From cliffs of houses, Sunlit windows gaze down upon me Like undeniable eyes, Millions of bronze eyes,
Midnight Worship: Brooklyn Bridge
In the rain Rows of street lamps are saints in bright garments That flow long with the bend of knees. They lift pale heads nimbussed with golden spikes.
The thin hill pushes against the mist. Its fading defiance sounds in the umber and red of autumn leaves. Like a dead arm around a warm throat Is the sagging embrace of the river
Along the shore A black net of branches Tangles the pulpy yellow lamps. The shell-colored sky is lustrous with the fading sun.
The City at Night
Life wriggles in and out Through the narrow ways And circuitous passages:
Crystal columns, When they bend they crack; Brittle souls,
Black brooms of trees sweep the sky clean;
Sweep the house fronts,
And heave them bleak in sleep.
High up the empty moon
Spills her vacuity.
My long black shadow
Weaves an invisible pattern of pain.
Is embroidered with my happiness.