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 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
244
THE RAID
I
Far in the forest, where the rude road winds
Through twisted briers and weeds, stamped down and caked
With mountain mire, the clashing boughs are raked
Again with rain whose sobbing frenzy blinds.
Through twisted briers and weeds, stamped down and caked
With mountain mire, the clashing boughs are raked
Again with rain whose sobbing frenzy blinds.
There is a noise of winds; a gasp and gulp
Of swollen torrents; and the sodden smell
Of woodland soil, dead trees—that long since fell
Among the moss—red-rotted into pulp.
Of swollen torrents; and the sodden smell
Of woodland soil, dead trees—that long since fell
Among the moss—red-rotted into pulp.
Fogged by the rain, far up the mountain glen,
Deep in a cave, an elfish wisp of light;
And stealthy shadows stealing through the night
With strong, set faces of determined men.
Deep in a cave, an elfish wisp of light;
And stealthy shadows stealing through the night
With strong, set faces of determined men.
245
II
'Twixt fog and fire, in pomps of chrysoprase,
Above vague peaks, the morning hesitates
Ere, o'er the threshold of her golden gates,
Speeds the wild splendor of her chariot's rays.
Above vague peaks, the morning hesitates
Ere, o'er the threshold of her golden gates,
Speeds the wild splendor of her chariot's rays.
A gleaming glimmer in the sun-speared mist,
A cataract, reverberating, falls:
Upon a pine a gray hawk sits and calls,
Then soars away no bigger than a fist.
A cataract, reverberating, falls:
Upon a pine a gray hawk sits and calls,
Then soars away no bigger than a fist.
Along the wild path, through the oaks and firs,—
Rocks, where the rattler coils himself and suns,—
Big-booted, belted, and with twinkling guns,
The posse marches with its moonshiners.
Rocks, where the rattler coils himself and suns,—
Big-booted, belted, and with twinkling guns,
The posse marches with its moonshiners.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |