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NIGHT |
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|
 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
232
NIGHT
Lo! where the champion, Day, down slopes of flame,
In golden armor, quits the evening skies!
And as his glowing steeds, with manes of fire,
Rush from the world, a dust of glimmering gold
From their fierce hoofs o'er heaven's azure meads
Rolls to one star that blossoms near the moon.
With solemn tread and holy-stoled, star-bound,
Night, like a votaress, a shadowy nun,
Paces the lonely corridors of heaven,
The vasty-arched and ebon halls of sky.
How still! how beautiful! her raven locks
Pale-filleted with stars that dance their sheen
On her deep, vestal eyes, and woo the soul
To wonder, and to dream of far-off things.
How calm o'er this great river, in its flow
Silent and dark, smoothes Earth's cold sister sphere
Her lunar chasteness, whiter than blown foam!
As o'er a troubled brow a hand of love:
As on a restless heart the balm of sleep,
Caressing softening all care away.
In golden armor, quits the evening skies!
And as his glowing steeds, with manes of fire,
Rush from the world, a dust of glimmering gold
From their fierce hoofs o'er heaven's azure meads
Rolls to one star that blossoms near the moon.
With solemn tread and holy-stoled, star-bound,
Night, like a votaress, a shadowy nun,
Paces the lonely corridors of heaven,
The vasty-arched and ebon halls of sky.
How still! how beautiful! her raven locks
Pale-filleted with stars that dance their sheen
On her deep, vestal eyes, and woo the soul
To wonder, and to dream of far-off things.
How calm o'er this great river, in its flow
Silent and dark, smoothes Earth's cold sister sphere
233
As o'er a troubled brow a hand of love:
As on a restless heart the balm of sleep,
Caressing softening all care away.
See, where the roses, at the wood's dark edge,
In many a languid bloom, bow to the moon
And the dim river's lisp; sleep weighs their eyes
With damask lashes of deep petals fringed,
That the rude, frolic bee,—rough paramour,—
So often kissed beneath the noonday sun.
How cool the breezes touch the tired head!
As if with unseen fingers, soft and slow,
Smoothing away the weariness of day.
And on the breeze, hark! to that melody,
Borne from that thorn-tree, white with fragrant bloom,
The dreaming nocturne of a mocking-bird,—
Ave Maria, nun-like, slumbering sung,—
There on its couch of clustered snow and scent.
In many a languid bloom, bow to the moon
And the dim river's lisp; sleep weighs their eyes
With damask lashes of deep petals fringed,
That the rude, frolic bee,—rough paramour,—
So often kissed beneath the noonday sun.
How cool the breezes touch the tired head!
As if with unseen fingers, soft and slow,
Smoothing away the weariness of day.
And on the breeze, hark! to that melody,
Borne from that thorn-tree, white with fragrant bloom,
The dreaming nocturne of a mocking-bird,—
Ave Maria, nun-like, slumbering sung,—
There on its couch of clustered snow and scent.
See, where the violet mound nods many a flower!
Dreamily sad as Sorrow's own sad eyes,
And lost in thought, and great with dewy grief,
As are her eyes when haltingly she bends
O'er Lethe's waves, and, stooping down to drink,
Delays to drink, and faltering remains.
The Night with feet of moon-tinged mist and wind
Swept o'er them now, but as she passed she bent,
Meseemed, and kissed each modest bloom and left
A brilliant on its brow, that bashful hung,
Freighted with love: then, groping up her train
Of star-stained crape, that billowed breeze-like by,
I seemed to hear her whisper as she passed:
“Sleep, sleep, my children! Lo, I bring to you
God's best gift, sleep! the soft, the misty eyed;
The strange, the wonderful! the cure for care!”
Dreamily sad as Sorrow's own sad eyes,
234
As are her eyes when haltingly she bends
O'er Lethe's waves, and, stooping down to drink,
Delays to drink, and faltering remains.
The Night with feet of moon-tinged mist and wind
Swept o'er them now, but as she passed she bent,
Meseemed, and kissed each modest bloom and left
A brilliant on its brow, that bashful hung,
Freighted with love: then, groping up her train
Of star-stained crape, that billowed breeze-like by,
I seemed to hear her whisper as she passed:
“Sleep, sleep, my children! Lo, I bring to you
God's best gift, sleep! the soft, the misty eyed;
The strange, the wonderful! the cure for care!”
And all things slept, the trees, the rocks, the soil,
Sleep's soft ablution in them washing out
The fever and the frenzy of the day:
But I, I slept not with them, though the world
And all its peoples slept, I could not sleep,
My heart being brimmed with love, with joy and love,
With thoughts and dreams of love's first happiness;
Until the Night turned from the slumbering world,
From her dim vigil turned,—as, from her child,
A loving mother turns, who, all night long,
Hath bent above its cradle, and with songs
And kisses soothed to rest:—and in the east
The first faint streaks of dawn made gray the heaven,
And the rathe cock, like some clear clarion, crew.
Sleep's soft ablution in them washing out
235
But I, I slept not with them, though the world
And all its peoples slept, I could not sleep,
My heart being brimmed with love, with joy and love,
With thoughts and dreams of love's first happiness;
Until the Night turned from the slumbering world,
From her dim vigil turned,—as, from her child,
A loving mother turns, who, all night long,
Hath bent above its cradle, and with songs
And kisses soothed to rest:—and in the east
The first faint streaks of dawn made gray the heaven,
And the rathe cock, like some clear clarion, crew.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |