 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
160
THE MOTH, THE ROSE, AND THE PINK
White as snow I saw it sink
On the pungent-petaled pink
Through the moonlit dusk;
Moth? or fairy? or, who knows?—
Ghost, perhaps, of some dead rose
'Mid the roses' musk.
On the pungent-petaled pink
Through the moonlit dusk;
Moth? or fairy? or, who knows?—
Ghost, perhaps, of some dead rose
'Mid the roses' musk.
Then it seemed I heard a sweet
Tinkle as of elfin feet
Underneath the blooms,
Where one rose hung desolate,
Sick of heart and filled with hate,
Dead with its perfumes.
Tinkle as of elfin feet
Underneath the blooms,
Where one rose hung desolate,
Sick of heart and filled with hate,
Dead with its perfumes.
“Thou, for whom I died to-day,”
So I seemed to hear it say,
“Listen, lovely pink:
Vampire-like, unto thy heart
Now I send, through my white art,
My pale ghost to drink.”
So I seemed to hear it say,
“Listen, lovely pink:
Vampire-like, unto thy heart
Now I send, through my white art,
My pale ghost to drink.”
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |