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 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
386
AT HER GRAVE
I
With your eyes of April blue,And your mouth
Like a May-rose, fresh with dew,
Of the South,
With your hair as golden sweet
As the ripples of ripe wheat,
How you make my old heart beat!—
Who are you?
II
There is something that I knew,Long ago,
In your voice that thrills me through
With the glow
Of remembered happiness;
And your look—I can not guess
What it is there, nor express.—
Who are you?
387
III
You are like her! even the hueOf her eyes!—
It is strange you stop here, too,
Where she lies!—
Where she lies who was, you see,
All to me a girl could be—
But no wife.—You stare at me.—
Who are you?
IV
Well, I left her. That 's not new—God above!
Men, who live so, often do.
'T is n't love.
So I broke her heart, they say,—
And been wretched since that day:
And our child—don't turn away!—
Who are you?
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |