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 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
160
FACE TO FACE
Dead! and all the haughty fate
Fair on throat and face of wax,
Calm on hands, crossed still and lax,
Cold, dispassionate.
Fair on throat and face of wax,
Calm on hands, crossed still and lax,
Cold, dispassionate.
Dead! and no word whispered low
At the dull ear now would wake
One responsive chord or make
One wan temple glow.
At the dull ear now would wake
One responsive chord or make
One wan temple glow.
Dead! and no hot tear would stir
Aught of woman, sweet and fair,
Woman soul in feet and hair,
Once that smiled in her.
Aught of woman, sweet and fair,
Woman soul in feet and hair,
Once that smiled in her.
She is dead, oh God! and I—
I must live! though life be but
One long, hard, monotonous rut
For me till I die.
I must live! though life be but
One long, hard, monotonous rut
For me till I die.
161
Creeds might help in such a case:
But no sermon could have wrought
More of faith than you have taught
With your pale dead face.
But no sermon could have wrought
More of faith than you have taught
With your pale dead face.
Now I see, oh, now I see
My mistake!—so very small,
Yet so great it bungled all,
All for you and me.
My mistake!—so very small,
Yet so great it bungled all,
All for you and me.
Oft I said, “I feel, I'm sure
She could never live that life!
She is still my own true wife,
She is good and pure!”
She could never live that life!
She is still my own true wife,
She is good and pure!”
You were pure and I bemoiled!
That you loathed me, it was just;
Weak of soul and left of lust
Vulgar, low, and soiled. . . .
That you loathed me, it was just;
Weak of soul and left of lust
Vulgar, low, and soiled. . . .
Closed—the eyes once filled with dreams!
Great, proud eyes! . . . I see them yet,
Miniature nights of lucid jet
Filled with starry gleams.
Great, proud eyes! . . . I see them yet,
Miniature nights of lucid jet
Filled with starry gleams.
Sealed—the lips; poor, faded lips!
Once as red as life could make—
Sweet wild roses, half awake,
Dewy to their tips.
Once as red as life could make—
162
Dewy to their tips.
Hair!—imperial still, and warm
As a Grace's; where one stone,
Jeweled, lay ensnared and shone
Like a star in storm.
As a Grace's; where one stone,
Jeweled, lay ensnared and shone
Like a star in storm.
Eyes!—at parting big with pain . . .
God! I see them still! the tear
In them!—big as eyes of deer
Led by lights and slain. . . .
God! I see them still! the tear
In them!—big as eyes of deer
Led by lights and slain. . . .
Woman true, I falsely blamed;
Whom I killed with scorn and pride;
Woman pure, of whom I lied;
With the nameless named:
Whom I killed with scorn and pride;
Woman pure, of whom I lied;
With the nameless named:
All you said, Sweet, has come true!—
Ah! this life had woe enough
For the little dole of love
Giv'n to me and you.
Ah! this life had woe enough
For the little dole of love
Giv'n to me and you.
Do you hear me? do you know
What I feel now? how it came?
You, beyond me like a flame,
You, before me like the snow. . . .
What I feel now? how it came?
You, beyond me like a flame,
You, before me like the snow. . . .
163
Dead! and all my heart's a cup
Hollowed for repentant tears,
Bitter in the bitter years,
Slowly brimming up.
Hollowed for repentant tears,
Bitter in the bitter years,
Slowly brimming up.
Peace! 'tis well! But might have been
Better.—Yes, God's time makes right!—
Better for me in His sight
With my soul washed clean.
Better.—Yes, God's time makes right!—
Better for me in His sight
With my soul washed clean.
Do you hear me? do you know
How my heart was all your own?
How my life is left alone
Now with naught but woe?
How my heart was all your own?
How my life is left alone
Now with naught but woe?
Peace! be still!—I kiss your hair.
Sweet, good-by. Upon your breast
Let this long white lily rest—
God will find it there:
Sweet, good-by. Upon your breast
Let this long white lily rest—
God will find it there:
There beyond the sad world and
Clouds and stars and silent skies,
Where your eyes shall meet His eyes,
And—He'll understand.
Clouds and stars and silent skies,
Where your eyes shall meet His eyes,
And—He'll understand.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |