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ROMANCE |
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 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
87
ROMANCE
Thus have I pictured her:—In Arden old
A white-browed maiden with a falcon eye,
And rose-flushed face, and locks of wind-blown gold,
Teaching her hawks to fly.
A white-browed maiden with a falcon eye,
And rose-flushed face, and locks of wind-blown gold,
Teaching her hawks to fly.
Or, 'mid her boar-hounds, panting with the heat,
In huntsman green, she sounds the hunt's wild prize,
Plumed, dagger-belted, while beneath her feet
The spear-pierced monster dies.
In huntsman green, she sounds the hunt's wild prize,
Plumed, dagger-belted, while beneath her feet
The spear-pierced monster dies.
Or in Brécèliand, on some high tower,
Clad soft in samite, last of her lost race,
I have beheld her, lovelier than a flower,
Turn from the world her face.
Clad soft in samite, last of her lost race,
I have beheld her, lovelier than a flower,
Turn from the world her face.
Or, robed in raiment of romantic lore,
Like Oriana, dark of eye and hair,
Riding through Realms of Legend evermore,
And ever young and fair.
Like Oriana, dark of eye and hair,
Riding through Realms of Legend evermore,
And ever young and fair.
88
Or now like Bradamant, as brave as just,
In complete steel, her pure face lit with scorn,
At heathen castles, dens of demon lust,
Winding her bugle-horn.
In complete steel, her pure face lit with scorn,
At heathen castles, dens of demon lust,
Winding her bugle-horn.
Another Una; and in chastity
A second Britomart; in beauty far
O'er her who led King Charles's chivalry
And Paynim lands to war. . . .
A second Britomart; in beauty far
O'er her who led King Charles's chivalry
And Paynim lands to war. . . .
Now she, from Avalon's deep-dingled bowers,—
'Mid which white stars and never-waning moons
Make marriage; and dim lips of musk-mouthed flowers
Sigh faint and fragrant tunes,—
'Mid which white stars and never-waning moons
Make marriage; and dim lips of musk-mouthed flowers
Sigh faint and fragrant tunes,—
Implores me follow; and, in shadowy shapes
Of sunset, shows me,—mile on misty mile
Of purple precipice,—all the haunted capes
Of her enchanted isle.
Of sunset, shows me,—mile on misty mile
Of purple precipice,—all the haunted capes
Of her enchanted isle.
Where, bowered in bosks and overgrown with vine,
Upon a headland breasting violet seas,
Her castle towers, like a dream divine,
With stairs and galleries.
Upon a headland breasting violet seas,
Her castle towers, like a dream divine,
With stairs and galleries.
89
And at her casement, Circe-beautiful,
Above the surgeless reaches of the deep,
She sits, while, in her gardens, fountains lull
The perfumed wind to sleep.
Above the surgeless reaches of the deep,
She sits, while, in her gardens, fountains lull
The perfumed wind to sleep.
Or, round her brow a diadem of spars,
She leans to hearken, from her raven height,
The nightingales that, choiring to the stars,
Haunt with wild song the night.
She leans to hearken, from her raven height,
The nightingales that, choiring to the stars,
Haunt with wild song the night.
Or, where the moon is mirrored in the waves,
To mark, deep down, the Sea King's city rolled,
Wrought of huge shells and labyrinthine caves,
Ribbed pale with pearl and gold.
To mark, deep down, the Sea King's city rolled,
Wrought of huge shells and labyrinthine caves,
Ribbed pale with pearl and gold.
There doth she wait forever; and the kings
Of all the world have wooed her: but she cares
For none but him, the Heart, that dreams and sings,
That sings and dreams and dares.
Of all the world have wooed her: but she cares
For none but him, the Heart, that dreams and sings,
That sings and dreams and dares.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |