The poems of Madison Cawein | ||
238
TOO LATE
I looked upon a dead girl's face and heardWhat seemed the voice of Death cry out to me,
Deep in her heart, all of the agony
Of her lost dreams, complaining word on word:—
How on her soul no soul had touched, or stirred
Her life's sad depths to rippling melody,
Or made the imaged longing, there, to be
The realization of a hope deferred.
So in her life had Love behaved to her.
Between the lonely chapters of her years
And her young eyes making no golden blur
With god-bright face and hair; who led me to
Her side at last, and bade me, through my tears,
With Death's dumb lips, too late, to see and know.
The poems of Madison Cawein | ||