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 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
VII
The wind rises; the trees are agitated:
Woods that beat the wind with frantic
Gestures and sow darkly round
Acorns gnarled and leaves that antic
Wildly on the rustling ground,
Gestures and sow darkly round
Acorns gnarled and leaves that antic
Wildly on the rustling ground,
Is it tragic grief that saddens
Through your souls this autumn day?
Or the joy of death that gladdens
In exultance of decay?
Through your souls this autumn day?
Or the joy of death that gladdens
In exultance of decay?
89
Arrogant you lift defiant
Boughs against the moaning blast,
That, like some invisible giant,
Wrapped in tumult, thunders past.
Boughs against the moaning blast,
That, like some invisible giant,
Wrapped in tumult, thunders past.
Is it that in such insurgent
Fury, tossed from tree to tree,
You would quench the fiercely urgent
Pangs of some old memory?
Fury, tossed from tree to tree,
You would quench the fiercely urgent
Pangs of some old memory?
As in toil and violent action,
That still help them to forget,
Mortals drown the dark distraction
And insistence of regret.
That still help them to forget,
Mortals drown the dark distraction
And insistence of regret.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |