The poems of Madison Cawein | ||
84
SIBYLLINE
I
There is a glory in the apple-boughsOf glimmering moonlight,—like a torch of myrrh,
Burning upon an altar of sweet vows,
Dropped from the hand of some pale worshiper:—
And there is life among the apple-blooms
Of mystic winds,—as if a god addressed
The flamen from the sanctuary glooms,
Revealing secrets which no man has guessed,
Saying: “Behold! a darkness which illumes:
A waking which is rest.”
II
There is a blackness in the apple-treesOf tempest,—like the ashes of an urn
Hurt hands have gathered upon blistered knees,
With salt of tears, out of the flames that burn:—
85
The night with breathless scent,—as when, above
The priest, the vision of his faith doth will
Forth from his soul the beautiful form thereof,
Saying: “Behold! a silence never still:
And love that 's more than love.”
The poems of Madison Cawein | ||