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CHATTERTON |
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 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
151
CHATTERTON
“I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy,
The sleepless soul that perished in his pride.”
—Wordsworth.
The sleepless soul that perished in his pride.”
—Wordsworth.
He dreamed of Mendip Hills, and woods
So deep, storm-barriers on the sky
Are not more dark, that rain their floods
From clouds of sullen dye:
So deep, storm-barriers on the sky
Are not more dark, that rain their floods
From clouds of sullen dye:
And Somerset, where sparsely grew
Gnarled, iron-colored oaks, with rifts,
Between old boughs, of April blue:
Ways where the speedwell lifts
Gnarled, iron-colored oaks, with rifts,
Between old boughs, of April blue:
Ways where the speedwell lifts
Its bit of heav'n; and, spreading far,—
The gold, the fallen gold of dawn
Held captive in each cowslip's star,—
The meadows led him on.
The gold, the fallen gold of dawn
Held captive in each cowslip's star,—
The meadows led him on.
Where, round his feet, the lady-smock
And pearl-pale lady-slipper crept;
Where butterflies, pied-wing'd, did rock,
Or, seal-brown, sucked and slept.
And pearl-pale lady-slipper crept;
Where butterflies, pied-wing'd, did rock,
Or, seal-brown, sucked and slept.
152
O'er which the west shot crooked fire
Athwart a half-moon leaning low;
While one white, arrowy star throbbed higher
In curdled honey-glow.
Athwart a half-moon leaning low;
While one white, arrowy star throbbed higher
In curdled honey-glow.
Was it some elfin euphrasy
That purged his sight and said, “Prepare!
See where the daisies beckon thee;
The harebells ring to prayer?
That purged his sight and said, “Prepare!
See where the daisies beckon thee;
The harebells ring to prayer?
“Come here and dream! far from the roofs,
The grime and smoke of London Town,
That monster, with its myriad hoofs,
That grinds the poet down!”
The grime and smoke of London Town,
That monster, with its myriad hoofs,
That grinds the poet down!”
Not different from his days our days,
That break the poet's heart. No love
Or pity after death repays
The soul that failed and strove.
That break the poet's heart. No love
Or pity after death repays
The soul that failed and strove.
They found him dead his songs beside,
Long stairs above the din and dust
Of life: and that for which he died
Denied him even a crust.
Long stairs above the din and dust
Of life: and that for which he died
Denied him even a crust.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |