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ANSWERED |
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 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
201
ANSWERED
Do you remember how that night drew on?
That night of sorrow, when the stars looked wan
As eyes that gaze, reproachful, in a dream;
Loved eyes, long dead, and sadder than the grave?
How through the heaven stole the moon's gray gleam,
Like a nun's ghost down a cathedral's nave?—
Do you remember how that night drew on?
That night of sorrow, when the stars looked wan
As eyes that gaze, reproachful, in a dream;
Loved eyes, long dead, and sadder than the grave?
How through the heaven stole the moon's gray gleam,
Like a nun's ghost down a cathedral's nave?—
Do you remember how that night drew on?
Do you remember the hard words then said?
The words of hate above my bowed-down head,
That left me dead, long, long before I died:
Those words, whose bitterness had stabbed and slain
My heart before I knew your love had lied,
Or pierced me with the dagger of disdain.—
Do you remember the hard words then said?
The words of hate above my bowed-down head,
That left me dead, long, long before I died:
Those words, whose bitterness had stabbed and slain
My heart before I knew your love had lied,
Or pierced me with the dagger of disdain.—
Do you remember the hard words then said?
Do you remember?—now the night draws down,—
As on that night,—the heavens, lightnings crown
With wrecks of thunder; and the moon doth give
The clouds wild witchery,—as in a room,
Behind the sorrowful arras, still may live
The pallid secret of the haunted gloom.—
Do you remember, now the night draws down?
202
With wrecks of thunder; and the moon doth give
The clouds wild witchery,—as in a room,
Behind the sorrowful arras, still may live
The pallid secret of the haunted gloom.—
Do you remember, now the night draws down?
Do you remember, now it comes to pass
Your form is bowed as is the wind-swept grass?
And death hath won from you that confidence
Denied to life? now your sick soul rebels
Against your pride with tragic eloquence,
That self-crowned demon of the heart's fierce hells.—
Do you remember, now it comes to pass?
Your form is bowed as is the wind-swept grass?
And death hath won from you that confidence
Denied to life? now your sick soul rebels
Against your pride with tragic eloquence,
That self-crowned demon of the heart's fierce hells.—
Do you remember, now it comes to pass?
Yea, you remember! Bid your soul be still!
Here passion hath surrendered unto will,
And flesh to spirit. Quiet your wild tongue
And wilder heart. Your kiss wakes naught in me.
The instrument love gave you lies unstrung,
Silent, forsaken of all melody.—
Yea, you remember! Bid your soul be still!
Here passion hath surrendered unto will,
And flesh to spirit. Quiet your wild tongue
And wilder heart. Your kiss wakes naught in me.
The instrument love gave you lies unstrung,
Silent, forsaken of all melody.—
Yea, you remember! Bid your soul be still!
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |