 | The Poems and Plays of William Vaughn Moody |  |
VI
From carven plinth and thousand-galleried greenCedars, and all close boughs that over-tower,
The shadows lengthened eastward from the gates,
And still Cain hid his forehead in his knees,
Nor dared to look abroad lest he might find
More watchers in the portals: for he heard
What seemed the rush of wings; from while to while
A pallor grew and faded in his brain,
As if a great light passed him near at hand.
But when above the darkening desert swales
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Cain rose, and with his back against the stones,
As a keen fighter at the desperate odds,
Glared round him. Cool and silent lay the night,
Empty of any foe. Then, as a man
Who has a thing to do, and makes his fear
An icy wind to freeze his purpose firm,
He stole in through the pillars of the gate,
Down aisles of shadow windowed with the moon,
By meads with the still stars communicant,
Past heaven-bosoming pool and poolèd stream,
Until he saw, through tangled fern and vine,
The Tree, where God had made its habitation:
And crouched above the shape that had been Eve,
With savage, listening frame and sidelong eyes,
Cain waited for the coming of the dawn.
| The Poems and Plays of William Vaughn Moody | |