New poems by Madison Cawein | ||
IN BLACK AND RED
The hush of death is on the night. The corn,That loves to whisper to the wind; the leaves,
That dance with it, are silent: one perceives
No motion mid the fields, as dry as horn.
What light is that?—It cannot be the morn!—
Yet in the east it seems its witchcraft weaves
A fiery rose.—Look! how it grows! it heaves
And flames and tosses!—'Tis a burning barn!
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Dark forms and faces hurry past. The gloom
Gallops with riders.—Homes are less than straw
Before this madness: human lives, mere lots
Flung in and juggled from the cap of Doom,
Where Crime stamps yelling on the face of Law.
New poems by Madison Cawein | ||