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 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
XXVI
Beyond the violet-colored hill
The golden, deepening daffodil
Of dusk bloomed on heav'n's window-sill:
And, drifting west, the crescent moon
Gleamed like a sword of Scanderoon
A khedive dropped on floors of gold;
Near which,—one loosened gem that rolled
Out of the jewelled scimitar,—
Glittered and shone the evening-star.
The golden, deepening daffodil
Of dusk bloomed on heav'n's window-sill:
And, drifting west, the crescent moon
Gleamed like a sword of Scanderoon
A khedive dropped on floors of gold;
Near which,—one loosened gem that rolled
Out of the jewelled scimitar,—
Glittered and shone the evening-star.
Behind the trees, where, darkly deep
As indigo, the shadows sleep,—
As if the Titan world would heap
A throne with purple for its god,
Whose pomp comes with vermilion shod—
The west, 'thwart which the wild-ducks fly,
Burns, richer than the orient dye
Phœnician vessels brought from Tyre,
Deep, murex-stained, with carmine fire.
As indigo, the shadows sleep,—
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A throne with purple for its god,
Whose pomp comes with vermilion shod—
The west, 'thwart which the wild-ducks fly,
Burns, richer than the orient dye
Phœnician vessels brought from Tyre,
Deep, murex-stained, with carmine fire.
The light dies down; the skies grow gray:
The sear, dark forests sound and sway:
The ashen rain-clouds roll this way.
The green grig in the withered weeds
Sings, and the wild snipe seeks the reeds.
With hurling winds,—that seem to wail
Like Demon Huntsmen,—dark with hail
And rain, which blot the cabin's light,
Comes on the wild autumnal night.
The sear, dark forests sound and sway:
The ashen rain-clouds roll this way.
The green grig in the withered weeds
Sings, and the wild snipe seeks the reeds.
With hurling winds,—that seem to wail
Like Demon Huntsmen,—dark with hail
And rain, which blot the cabin's light,
Comes on the wild autumnal night.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |