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A NOVEMBER WALK |
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 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
138
A NOVEMBER WALK
I
Morning
The hoar frost crisps beneath the feet;
And, sparkling in the morning's strength,
The fence, along its straggling length,
Gleams as if wrought of virgin sleet.
And, sparkling in the morning's strength,
The fence, along its straggling length,
Gleams as if wrought of virgin sleet.
On broom-sedge fields and sassafras
Neglectfully the dim wind lifts
The dead leaves; and around me drifts
The milkweed, shaken from the grass.
Neglectfully the dim wind lifts
The dead leaves; and around me drifts
The milkweed, shaken from the grass.
Reluctantly and one by one
The useless leaves drift slowly down;
And, seen through woodland vistas, brown
The nut-tree patters in the sun.
The useless leaves drift slowly down;
And, seen through woodland vistas, brown
The nut-tree patters in the sun.
Where pools the brook beneath its fall
With scales of ice its edge is bound;
And on the pebbles scattered round
The ooze is frozen; each a ball,
With scales of ice its edge is bound;
And on the pebbles scattered round
The ooze is frozen; each a ball,
139
It seems, of crystal fallen there.
And now the wind sweeps through the wood
With sighings, and the solitude
Seems shaken with a mighty care.
And now the wind sweeps through the wood
With sighings, and the solitude
Seems shaken with a mighty care.
Decay and melancholy drape
The near-by hills in mysteries
Of mist, through which the rocks and trees
Loom, hazy, each a phantom shape.
The near-by hills in mysteries
Of mist, through which the rocks and trees
Loom, hazy, each a phantom shape.
To sullenness the surly crow
All his derisive being yields,
And o'er the barren stubble-fields
Flaps, cawless, wrapped in hungry woe.
All his derisive being yields,
And o'er the barren stubble-fields
Flaps, cawless, wrapped in hungry woe.
II
Evening
As eve comes on the teasel stoops
Its spike-crowned cone before the blast:
The tattered leaves drive whirling past
In frantic and fantastic troops.
Its spike-crowned cone before the blast:
The tattered leaves drive whirling past
In frantic and fantastic troops.
The matted elder-copses sigh;
Their broad, blue combs, with berries weighed,
Like heavy pendulums are swayed
With every gust that wanders by.
Their broad, blue combs, with berries weighed,
Like heavy pendulums are swayed
With every gust that wanders by.
140
Through broken walls of tangled brier,
That hedge the lane, the sumachs thrust
Their scarlet torches, red as rust,
Lit with the sunset's stolid fire.
That hedge the lane, the sumachs thrust
Their scarlet torches, red as rust,
Lit with the sunset's stolid fire.
The eve is here: Cold, hard, and drear
The cloudless west with livid white
Of flaming silver walls the night
Far as one star's thin rays appear.
The cloudless west with livid white
Of flaming silver walls the night
Far as one star's thin rays appear.
Wedged 'thwart the west's white luridness
The wild geese wing; from roseless domes
The far “honk” of the leader comes
Lonely and harsh and colorless.
The wild geese wing; from roseless domes
The far “honk” of the leader comes
Lonely and harsh and colorless.
The west dies down; and in its cup,
Shadow on shadow, pours the night;
The east glows with a mystic light;
The stars are keen; the moon comes up.
Shadow on shadow, pours the night;
The east glows with a mystic light;
The stars are keen; the moon comes up.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |