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 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
170
BY THE TRYSTING-BEECH
Deep in the west a berry-colored barOf sunset gleams; against which one tall fir
Stands outlined dark; above which—courier
Of dew and dreams—burns dusk's appointed star.
And flash on flash, as when the elves wage war
In Goblinland, the fireflies bombard
The silence; and, like spirits, o'er the sward
The twilight winds bring fragrance from afar.
And now, withdrawn into the hill-wood belts,
A whippoorwill; while, with attendant states
Of pearl and silver, slow the great moon melts
Into the night—to show me where she waits,—
Like some slim moonbeam,—by the old beech-tree,
Who keeps her lips, fresh as a flower, for me.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |