 | New poems by Madison Cawein |  |
140
II
Now the thunder tramples slowly,
Like a king, down heaven's arc;
And the clouds, like armies wholly
Vanquished, break; and, white as moly,
Sweeps the queen moon on the dark.—
Love, a bird wakes; is't the lark?—
Sweet as in your bosom holy
Sings the heart that now I hark.
Like a king, down heaven's arc;
And the clouds, like armies wholly
Vanquished, break; and, white as moly,
Sweeps the queen moon on the dark.—
Love, a bird wakes; is't the lark?—
Sweet as in your bosom holy
Sings the heart that now I hark.
All my soul that song makes whole,
That young song I hear it singing,
Calm and peace for ever bringing
To my heart's storm and alarm.
That young song I hear it singing,
Calm and peace for ever bringing
To my heart's storm and alarm.
| New poems by Madison Cawein | |