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“ROSE LEAVES, WHEN THE ROSE IS DEAD” |
|
 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
340
“ROSE LEAVES, WHEN THE ROSE IS DEAD”
See how the rose leaves fall,
The rose leaves fall and fade;
And by the wall, in shade funereal,
How leaf on leaf is laid,
Withered and soiled and frayed!
The rose leaves fall and fade;
And by the wall, in shade funereal,
How leaf on leaf is laid,
Withered and soiled and frayed!
How red the rose leaves fall—
And in the ancient trees,
That stretch their ghostly arms about the Hall,
Burdened with mysteries,
How sadly sighs the breeze!
And in the ancient trees,
That stretch their ghostly arms about the Hall,
Burdened with mysteries,
How sadly sighs the breeze!
How soft the rose leaves fall—
The rose leaves fall and lie!
While over them dull slugs and beetles crawl,
And, palely glimmering by,
The glow-worm trails its eye.
The rose leaves fall and lie!
While over them dull slugs and beetles crawl,
And, palely glimmering by,
The glow-worm trails its eye.
How thick the rose leaves fall,
And strew the garden way!
For snails to slime and spotted toads to sprawl,
And, plodding past each day,
Coarse feet to tread in clay.
And strew the garden way!
341
And, plodding past each day,
Coarse feet to tread in clay.
How fast they fade and fall
Where Beauty, carved in stone,
With broken hands veils her dead eyes, and, tall,
White in the moonlight lone,
Stands like a marble moan.
Where Beauty, carved in stone,
With broken hands veils her dead eyes, and, tall,
White in the moonlight lone,
Stands like a marble moan.
How slow they drift and fall
And strew the fountained pool,
That, in the nymph-carved basin by the wall,
Reflects, in darkness cool,
Ruin made beautiful.
And strew the fountained pool,
That, in the nymph-carved basin by the wall,
Reflects, in darkness cool,
Ruin made beautiful.
How red the rose leaves fall,
Fall, and like blood remain
Upon the dial's disk, whose pedestal,
Black-mossed, and dark with stain,
Crumbles in sun and rain.
Fall, and like blood remain
Upon the dial's disk, whose pedestal,
Black-mossed, and dark with stain,
Crumbles in sun and rain.
How dim they seem to fall
Around one where she stands,
Deep in their midst, beyond the years' recall,
Reaching pale, passionate hands
Into the past's vague lands.
Around one where she stands,
Deep in their midst, beyond the years' recall,
Reaching pale, passionate hands
Into the past's vague lands.
342
How still the rose leaves fall
Around them as they meet
As oft of old! she, in her gem-pinned shawl
Of white; and he, complete
In black from head to feet.
Around them as they meet
As oft of old! she, in her gem-pinned shawl
Of white; and he, complete
In black from head to feet.
How faint the rose leaves fall
Around them where, it seems,
He holds her clasped, parting from her and all
His heart's wild hopes and dreams,
There in the moon's pale beams!
Around them where, it seems,
He holds her clasped, parting from her and all
His heart's wild hopes and dreams,
There in the moon's pale beams!
Around them rose leaves fall—
And in the stress and urge
Of winds that strew them wanly over all,
With deep, autumnal surge,
There floats a funeral dirge:—
And in the stress and urge
Of winds that strew them wanly over all,
With deep, autumnal surge,
There floats a funeral dirge:—
“See how the rose leaves fall
Upon thy dead, O soul!
The rose leaves of the love that once in thrall
Held thee, beyond control,
Making thy heart's world whole.
Upon thy dead, O soul!
The rose leaves of the love that once in thrall
Held thee, beyond control,
Making thy heart's world whole.
“God help them still to fall
Around thee, bowed above
The face within thy heart, beneath the pall,
The perished face thereof,
The beautiful face of Love.”
Around thee, bowed above
The face within thy heart, beneath the pall,
The perished face thereof,
The beautiful face of Love.”
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |