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 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
XIV
The mallow, like an Elfland moon,
Along the stream gleams grottoed gold;
Its bell-shaped blossom seems to hold
All the lost beauty of last June.
September's mist haunts, white and cold,
The windings of the forest stream,
As death might haunt a thought or dream.
Along the stream gleams grottoed gold;
Its bell-shaped blossom seems to hold
All the lost beauty of last June.
September's mist haunts, white and cold,
The windings of the forest stream,
As death might haunt a thought or dream.
And who with idle words hath stood,
With idle thoughts, and gazed into
The face of one he loved and knew,
Dying in all her womanhood?
No words, but silence, then will do,
No thoughts but help the heart to hear:
So seems it with the fading year.
With idle thoughts, and gazed into
The face of one he loved and knew,
15
No words, but silence, then will do,
No thoughts but help the heart to hear:
So seems it with the fading year.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |