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 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
X
Hepauses before a deserted house by the wayside:
Through ironweeds and roses
And scraggy beech and oak,
Old porches it discloses
Above the weeds and roses
The drizzling raindrops soak.
And scraggy beech and oak,
Old porches it discloses
Above the weeds and roses
The drizzling raindrops soak.
79
Neglected walks a-tangle
With dodder-strangled grass;
And every mildewed angle
Heaped with dead leaves that spangle.
The paths that round it pass.
With dodder-strangled grass;
And every mildewed angle
Heaped with dead leaves that spangle.
The paths that round it pass.
The creatures there that bury
Or hide within its rooms
And spidered closets—very
Dim with old webs—will hurry
Out when the evening glooms.
Or hide within its rooms
And spidered closets—very
Dim with old webs—will hurry
Out when the evening glooms.
Owls roost on beam and basement;
Bats haunt its hearth and porch;
And, by each ruined casement,
Flits, in the moon's enlacement,
The wisp, like some wild torch.
Bats haunt its hearth and porch;
And, by each ruined casement,
Flits, in the moon's enlacement,
The wisp, like some wild torch.
There is a sense of frost here,
And winds that sigh alway
Of something that was lost here,
Long, long ago was lost here,
But what, they can not say.
And winds that sigh alway
Of something that was lost here,
Long, long ago was lost here,
But what, they can not say.
My foot, perhaps, would startle
Some owl that mopes within;
Some bat above its portal,
That frights the daring mortal,
And guards its cellared sin.
Some owl that mopes within;
Some bat above its portal,
80
And guards its cellared sin.
The creaking road winds by it
This side the dusty toll.—
Why do I stop to eye it?
My heart can not deny it—
The house is like my soul.
This side the dusty toll.—
Why do I stop to eye it?
My heart can not deny it—
The house is like my soul.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |