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 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
22
BLACK VESPER'S PAGEANTS
The day, all fierce with carmine, turns
An Indian face towards Earth and dies;
The west, like some gaunt vase, inurns
Its ashes under smoldering skies;
Athwart whose bowl one red cloud streams,
Wild as some dream an Aztec dreams.
An Indian face towards Earth and dies;
The west, like some gaunt vase, inurns
Its ashes under smoldering skies;
Athwart whose bowl one red cloud streams,
Wild as some dream an Aztec dreams.
Now shadows mass above the world,
And night comes on with wind and rain;
The mulberry-colored leaves are hurled
Like frantic hands against the pane.
And through the forests, bending low,
Night stalks like some gigantic Woe.
And night comes on with wind and rain;
The mulberry-colored leaves are hurled
Like frantic hands against the pane.
And through the forests, bending low,
Night stalks like some gigantic Woe.
In hollows where the thistle shakes
A hoar bloom like a witch's light,
From weed and flower the rain-wind rakes
Dead sweetness—as a wildman might,
From autumn leaves, the woods among,
Dig some dead woman, fair and young.
A hoar bloom like a witch's light,
From weed and flower the rain-wind rakes
Dead sweetness—as a wildman might,
From autumn leaves, the woods among,
Dig some dead woman, fair and young.
23
Now let me walk the woodland ways,
Alone! except for thoughts, that are
Akin to such wild nights and days—
A portion of the storm that far
Fills Heaven and Earth tumultuously,
And my own soul with ecstasy.
Alone! except for thoughts, that are
Akin to such wild nights and days—
A portion of the storm that far
Fills Heaven and Earth tumultuously,
And my own soul with ecstasy.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |