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 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
60
THE MILL-WATER
The water-flag and wild cane grow
Round banks whereon the sunbeams sow
Ephemeral gold when, on its shores,
The wind sighs through the sycamores.
Round banks whereon the sunbeams sow
Ephemeral gold when, on its shores,
The wind sighs through the sycamores.
In one green angle, just in reach,
Between a willow-tree and beech,
Moss-grown and leaky lies a boat
The thick-grown lilies keep afloat.
Between a willow-tree and beech,
Moss-grown and leaky lies a boat
The thick-grown lilies keep afloat.
And through its waters, half-awake,
Slow swims the spotted water-snake;
And near its edge, like some gray streak,
Stands gaunt the still fly-up-the-creek.
Slow swims the spotted water-snake;
And near its edge, like some gray streak,
Stands gaunt the still fly-up-the-creek.
Between the lily-pads and blooms
The water-spirits set their looms,
And weave the lace-like light that dims
The glimmering leaves of under limbs.
The water-spirits set their looms,
And weave the lace-like light that dims
The glimmering leaves of under limbs.
Each lily is the hiding-place
Of some dim wood-thing's elvish face,
That watches you with gold-green eyes
Where bubbles of its breathing rise.
Of some dim wood-thing's elvish face,
61
Where bubbles of its breathing rise.
I fancy, when the waxing moon
Leans through the trees and dreams of June;
And when the black bat slants its wing,
And lonelier the green-frogs sing;
Leans through the trees and dreams of June;
And when the black bat slants its wing,
And lonelier the green-frogs sing;
I fancy, when the whippoorwill
In some old tree sings wildly shrill,
With glow-worm eyes that dot the dark,—
Each holding high a firefly spark,
In some old tree sings wildly shrill,
With glow-worm eyes that dot the dark,—
Each holding high a firefly spark,
To torch its way,—the wood-imps come:
And some float rocking here; and some
Unmoor the lily-leaves and oar
Around the old boat by the shore.
And some float rocking here; and some
Unmoor the lily-leaves and oar
Around the old boat by the shore.
They climb through oozy weeds and moss;
They swarm its rotting sides and toss
Their firefly torches o'er its edge
Or hang them in the tangled sedge.
They swarm its rotting sides and toss
Their firefly torches o'er its edge
Or hang them in the tangled sedge.
The boat is loosed. The moon is pale.
Around the dam they slowly sail.
Upon its bow, to pilot it,
A jack-o'-lantern flame doth sit.
Around the dam they slowly sail.
Upon its bow, to pilot it,
A jack-o'-lantern flame doth sit.
62
Yes; I have seen it all in dreams:
Naught is forgotten—naught, it seems—
The strangled face, the matted hair,
Drown'd, of the woman trailing there.
Naught is forgotten—naught, it seems—
The strangled face, the matted hair,
Drown'd, of the woman trailing there.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |