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AIRY TONGUES |
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 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
184
AIRY TONGUES
I
There is a song the wet leaves lisp
When Morn comes down the woodland way;
And misty as a thistle-wisp
Her gown gleams, windy gray:
A song that seems to say,
“Awake! 't is day!”
When Morn comes down the woodland way;
And misty as a thistle-wisp
Her gown gleams, windy gray:
A song that seems to say,
“Awake! 't is day!”
There is a sigh when Day sits down
Beside the sunlight-lulled lagoon;
While on her glistening hair and gown
The rose of rest is strewn:
A sigh, that seems to croon,
“Come rest! 't is noon!”
Beside the sunlight-lulled lagoon;
While on her glistening hair and gown
The rose of rest is strewn:
A sigh, that seems to croon,
“Come rest! 't is noon!”
There is a whisper when the stars,
Above an evening-purpled height,
Crown the dead Day with nenuphars
Of fire, gold and white:
A voice, that seems t' invite,
“Come love! 't is night!”
Above an evening-purpled height,
Crown the dead Day with nenuphars
Of fire, gold and white:
A voice, that seems t' invite,
“Come love! 't is night!”
185
II
Before the rathe song-sparrow sings
Among the haw-trees in the lane,
And to the wind the locust flings
Its early clusters fresh with rain;
Beyond the morning-star, that swings
Its rose of fire above the spire,
Between the morning's watchet wings,
A wild voice rings o'er brooks and boughs—
“Arouse! arouse!”
Among the haw-trees in the lane,
And to the wind the locust flings
Its early clusters fresh with rain;
Beyond the morning-star, that swings
Its rose of fire above the spire,
Between the morning's watchet wings,
A wild voice rings o'er brooks and boughs—
“Arouse! arouse!”
Before the first brown owlet cries
Among the grape-vines on the hill,
And in the dam with half-shut eyes
The lilies rock above the mill;
Beyond the oblong moon, that flies,
A pearly flower, above the tower,
Between the twilight's primrose skies,
A soft voice sighs, from east to west—
“To rest! to rest!”
Among the grape-vines on the hill,
And in the dam with half-shut eyes
The lilies rock above the mill;
Beyond the oblong moon, that flies,
A pearly flower, above the tower,
Between the twilight's primrose skies,
A soft voice sighs, from east to west—
“To rest! to rest!”
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |