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|
 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
LXIII
No songs but what are sorrowful
And sweet in pensive notes and words,
Shall fill my heart,—as singing birds
Might build a nest within a skull. . . .
The nun-like days, in stoles of white,
Chant requiems for the dying Year:
The monk-like nights about her bier,
In cowls of black, with lights that blear,
The service for the dead recite.
And sweet in pensive notes and words,
Shall fill my heart,—as singing birds
Might build a nest within a skull. . . .
The nun-like days, in stoles of white,
Chant requiems for the dying Year:
The monk-like nights about her bier,
In cowls of black, with lights that blear,
The service for the dead recite.
56
Into my soul the litanies
Of life and death strike golden bars:
I hear the far, responding stars,—
Uttering themselves within the skies,—
Reverberate from cause to cause
Results that terminate in man;
From world to world, the rounding plan
Of change,—God's mighty artisan,—
Of which both life and death are laws.
Of life and death strike golden bars:
I hear the far, responding stars,—
Uttering themselves within the skies,—
Reverberate from cause to cause
Results that terminate in man;
From world to world, the rounding plan
Of change,—God's mighty artisan,—
Of which both life and death are laws.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |