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 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
LXVI
What alchemy does Earth conceal
Desired by the desperate days?
With feet of fog and hands of haze
They search the crumbling woods and steal
With mutterings,—gaunt as hags who deal
In witchcraft,—where each dark tree sways,
And, venerable, with staff aslant,
Death sits like some old mendicant.
Desired by the desperate days?
With feet of fog and hands of haze
They search the crumbling woods and steal
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In witchcraft,—where each dark tree sways,
And, venerable, with staff aslant,
Death sits like some old mendicant.
Around me all 's despondency,
And grief that holds the unwilling world:
The last gold leaf is wildly hurled
Through sobbing silence over me:
The brook has hushed its wildwood glee,
Sick of itself; and far unfurled,
And melancholy as my soul,
The struggling lights of sunset roll.
And grief that holds the unwilling world:
The last gold leaf is wildly hurled
Through sobbing silence over me:
The brook has hushed its wildwood glee,
Sick of itself; and far unfurled,
And melancholy as my soul,
The struggling lights of sunset roll.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |