 | 1. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
|
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
THE DARK TOWER |
| 2. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
| 18. |
| 2. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
| 3. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 4. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 5. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
| 18. |
| 19. |
| 20. |
| 21. |
| 22. |
| 23. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
|
| 3. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
|
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 4. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 5. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
| 18. |
| 19. |
| 20. |
| 21. |
| 22. |
| 23. |
| 24. |
| 25. |
| 26. |
| 27. |
| 28. |
| 29. |
| 30. |
| 31. |
| 32. |
| 33. |
| 34. |
| 35. |
| 36. |
| 37. |
| 38. |
| 39. |
| 40. |
| 41. |
| 42. |
| 43. |
| 44. |
| 45. |
| 46. |
| 47. |
| 48. |
| 49. |
| 50. |
| 51. |
| 52. |
| 53. |
| 54. |
| 55. |
| 56. |
| 57. |
| 58. |
| 59. |
| 60. |
| 61. |
| 62. |
| 63. |
| 64. |
| 65. |
| 66. |
| 67. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
|
 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
342
THE DARK TOWER
“Childe Rowland to the dark tower came.”
—King Lear.
—King Lear.
The hills around were iron,
The sky, a boundless black,
Where wells of the lightning opened
And boiled with blazing rack,
When he came to the giant castle,
The wild rain on his back.
The sky, a boundless black,
Where wells of the lightning opened
And boiled with blazing rack,
When he came to the giant castle,
The wild rain on his back.
Huge in the night and tempest,
Over the cataract's bed,
Its windows, ulcers of fire,
Its gate, a hell-lit red,
The Dark Tower loomed; and wildly
A voice sang overhead.
Over the cataract's bed,
Its windows, ulcers of fire,
Its gate, a hell-lit red,
The Dark Tower loomed; and wildly
A voice sang overhead.
Thrice, under its warlock turrets,
Where the causeway of rock was laid;
Thrice, there at its owlet portal,
His scornful bugle brayed;
And the drawbridge clanged at his summons,
And he rode in unafraid.
Where the causeway of rock was laid;
Thrice, there at its owlet portal,
His scornful bugle brayed;
343
And he rode in unafraid.
The heavens were riven asunder,
One glare of blinding storm;
And the blackness, chasmed with thunder,
Blazed form on demon form,
As he rode in the court of the castle,
The shield upon his arm.
One glare of blinding storm;
And the blackness, chasmed with thunder,
Blazed form on demon form,
As he rode in the court of the castle,
The shield upon his arm.
His sword unsheathed and open
The vizor of his casque,
Childe Rowland entered the donjon
His gauntlet should unmask:
But naught, save night and silence,
He found, and none to ask.
The vizor of his casque,
Childe Rowland entered the donjon
His gauntlet should unmask:
But naught, save night and silence,
He found, and none to ask.
His heel on the stair crashed iron,
His hand on the door clashed steel—
In the hall, the roar of the torrent,
In the turret, the thunder's peal—
And there in the highest turret
She sat at a spinning-wheel.
His hand on the door clashed steel—
In the hall, the roar of the torrent,
In the turret, the thunder's peal—
And there in the highest turret
She sat at a spinning-wheel.
She spun the flax of a spindle,
All in a magic space;
She spun with her head bent downward,
His Lady, fair of face;
She spun, all wildly singing,
All spellbound in that place.
All in a magic space;
She spun with her head bent downward,
His Lady, fair of face;
344
All spellbound in that place.
Again, when he gazed on her beauty,
The heart in his breast was wax;
Again, when he heard her singing,
The thews of his limbs grew lax—
She spun, nor saw him, spinning
A spindle of blood-red flax.
The heart in his breast was wax;
Again, when he heard her singing,
The thews of his limbs grew lax—
She spun, nor saw him, spinning
A spindle of blood-red flax.
And now the flax was fire,
That wrapped her, skein on skein;
And now a flaming serpent,
And now a blazing chain;
But he seized the enchanted spindle,
And all its spells were vain.
That wrapped her, skein on skein;
And now a flaming serpent,
And now a blazing chain;
But he seized the enchanted spindle,
And all its spells were vain.
She looked upon Childe Rowland,
And never a word she said,
But kissed his mouth and forehead,
And leaned on his breast her head . . .
She smiled upon Childe Rowland,
And into the night they fled.
And never a word she said,
But kissed his mouth and forehead,
And leaned on his breast her head . . .
She smiled upon Childe Rowland,
And into the night they fled.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |