Author: Madison Julius Cawein

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I.

 Not for you and me the path
 Winding through the shadowless
 Fields of morning's dewiness!
 Where the brook, that hurries, hath
 Laughter lighter than a boy's;
 Where recurrent odors poise,
 Romp-like, with irreverent tresses,
 In the sun; and birds and boughs
 Build a music-haunted house
 For the winds to hang their dresses,
 Whisper-silken, rustling in.
 Ours a path that led unto
 Twilight regions gray with dew;
 Where moon-vapors gathered thin
 Over acres sisterless
 Of all healthy beauty; where
 Fungus growths made sad the air
 With a phantom-like caress:
 Under darkness and strange stars,
 To the sorrow-silenced bars
 Of a dubious forestland,
 Where the wood-scents seemed to stand,
 And the sounds, on either hand,
 Clad like sleep's own servitors
 In the shadowy livery
 Of the ancient house of dreams;
 That before us, - fitfully,
 With white intermittent gleams
 Of its pale-lamped windows, - shone;
 Echoing with the dim unknown.


II.

 To say to hope, - Take all from me,
 And grant me naught:
 The rose, the song, the melody,
 The word, the thought:
 Then all my life bid me be slave, - 
 Is all I crave.

 To say to time, - Be true to me,
 Nor grant me less
 The dream, the sigh, the memory,
 The heart's distress;
 Then unto death set me a task,
 Is all I ask.


III.

 I came to you when eve was young.
 And, where the park went downward to
 The river, and, among the dew,
 One vesper moment lit and sung
 A bird, your eyes said something dear.
 How sweet it was to walk with you!
 How, with our souls, we seemed to hear
 The darkness coming with its stars!
 How calm the moon sloped up her sphere
 Of fire-filled pearl through passive bars
 Of clouds that berged the tender east!
 While all the dark inanimate
 Of nature woke; initiate
 With th' moon's arrival, something ceased
 In nature's soul; she stood again
 Another self, that seemed t' have been
 Dormant, suppressed and so unseen
 All day; a life, unknown and strange
 And dream-suggestive, that had lain, - 
 Masked on with light, - within the range
 Of thought, but unrevealed till now.
 It was the hour of love. And you,
 With downward eyes and pensive brow,
 Among the moonlight and the dew, - 
 Although no word of love was spoken, - 
 Heard the sweet night's confession broken
 Of something here that spoke in me;
 A love, depth made inaudible,
 Save to your soul, that answered well,
 With eyes replying silently.


IV.

 Fair you are as a rose is fair,
 There where the shadows dew it;
 And the deeps of your brown, brown hair,
 Sweet as the cloud that lingers there
 With the sunset's auburn through it.
 Eyes of azure and throat of snow,
 Tell me what my heart would know!

 Every dream I dream of you
 Has a love-thought in it,
 And a hope, a kiss or two,
 Something dear and something true,
 Telling me each minute,
 With three words it whispers clear,
 What my heart from you would hear.


V.

 Summer came; the days grew kind
 With increasing favors; deep
 Were the nights with rest and sleep:
 Fair, with poppies intertwined
 On their blonde locks, dreamy hours,
 Sunny-hearted as the rose,
 Went among the banded flowers,
 Teaching them, how no one knows,
 Fresher color and perfume. - 
 In the window of your room
 Bloomed a rich azalea. Pink,
 As an egret's rosy plumes,
 Shone its tender-tufted blooms.
 From your care and love, I think,
 Love's rose-color it did drink,
 Growing rosier day by day
 Of your 'tending hand's caress;
 And your own dear naturalness
 Had imbued it in some way.
 Once you gave a blossom of it,
 Smiling, to me when I left:
 Need I tell you how I love it
 Faded though it is now! - Reft
 Of its fragrance and its color,
 Yet 'tis dearer now than then,
 As past happiness is when
 We regret. And dimmer, duller
 Though its beauty be, when I
 Look upon it, I recall
 Every part of that old wall;
 And the dingy window high,
 Where you sat and read; and all
 The fond love that made your face
 A soft sunbeam in that place:
 And the plant, that grew this bloom
 Withered here, itself long dead,
 Makes a halo overhead
 There again - and through my room,
 Like faint whispers of perfume,
 Steal the words of love then said.


VI.

 All of my love I send to you,
 I send to you,
 On thoughts, like paths, that wend to you,
 Here in my heart's glad garden,
 Wherein, its lovely warden,
 Your face, a lily seeming,
 Is dreaming.

 All of my life I bring to you,
 I bring to you,
 In deeds, like birds, that sing to you,
 Here, in my soul's sweet valley,
 Wherethrough, most musically,
 Your love, a fountain, glistens,
 And listens.

 My love, my life, how blessed in you!
 How blessed in you!
 Whose thoughts, whose deeds find rest in you,
 Here, on my self's dark ocean,
 Whereo'er, in heavenly motion,
 Your soul, a star, abideth,
 And guideth.


VII.

 Where the old Kentucky wound
 Through the land, - its stream between
 Hills of primitive forest green, - 
 Like a goodly belt around
 Giant breasts of grandeur; with
 Many an unknown Indian myth,
 On the boat we steamed. The land
 Like an hospitable hand
 Welcomed us. Alone we sat
 On the under-deck, and saw
 Farm-house and plantation draw
 Near and vanish. 'Neath your hat,
 Your young eyes laughed; and your hair,
 Blown about them by the air
 Of our passage, clung and curled.
 Music, and the summer moon;
 And the hills' great shadows hewn
 Out of silence; and the tune
 Of the whistle, when we whirled
 Round a moonlit bend in sight of
 Some lone landing heaped with hay
 Or tobacco; where the light of
 One dim solitary lamp
 Signaled through the evening's damp:
 Then a bell; and, dusky gray,
 Shuffling figures on the shore
 With the cable; rugged forms
 On the gang-plank; backs and arms
 With their cargo bending o'er;
 And the burly mate before.
 Then an iron bell, and puff
 Of escaping steam; and out
 Where the stream is wheel-whipped rough;
 Music, and a parting shout
 From the shore; the pilot's bell
 Beating on the deck below;
 Then the steady, quivering, slow
 Smooth advance again. Until
 Twinkling lights beyond us tell
 There's a lock or little town,
 Clasped between a hill and hill,
 Where the blue-grass fields slope down. - 
 So we went. That summer-time
 Lingers with me like a rhyme
 Learned for dreamy beauty of
 Its old-fashioned faith and love,
 In some musing moment; sith
 Heart-associated with
 Joy that moment's quiet bore,
 Thought repeated evermore.


VIII.

 Three sweet things love lives upon:
 Music, at whose fountain's brink
 Still he stoops his face to drink;
 Seeing, as the wave is drawn,
 His own image rise and sink.
 Three sweet things love lives upon.

 Three sweet things love lives upon:
 Odor, whose red roses wreathe
 His bright brow that shines beneath;
 Hearing, as each bud is blown,
 His own spirit breathe and breathe.
 Three sweet things love lives upon.

 Three sweet things love lives upon:
 Color, to whose rainbow he
 Lifts his dark eyes burningly;
 Feeling, as the wild hues dawn,
 His own immortality.
 Three sweet things love lives upon.


IX.

 Memories of other days,
 With the whilom happiness,
 Rise before my musing gaze
 In the twilight ... And your dress
 Seems beside me, like a haze
 Shimmering white; as when we went
 'Neath the star-strewn firmament,
 Love-led, with impatient feet
 Down the night that, summer-sweet,
 Sparkled o'er the lamp-lit street.
 Every look love gave us then
 Comes before my eyes again,
 Making music for my heart
 On that path, that grew for us
 Roses, red and amorous,
 On that path, from which oft start,
 Out of recollected places,
 With remembered forms and faces,
 Dreams, love's ardent hands have woven
 In my life's dark tapestry,
 Beckoning, soft and shadowy,
 To the soul. And o'er the cloven
 Gulf of time, I seem to hear
 Words, once whispered in the ear,
 Calling - as might friends long dead,
 With familiar voices, deep,
 Speak to those who lie asleep,
 Comforting - So I was led
 Backward to forgotten things,
 Contiguities that spread
 Sudden unremembered wings;
 And across my mind's still blue
 From the nest they fledged in, flew
 Dazzling shapes affection knew.


X.

 Ah! over full my heart is
 Of sadness and of pain;
 As a rose-flower in the garden
 The dull dusk fills with rain;
 As a blown red rose that shivers
 And bends to the wind and rain.

 So give me thy hands and speak me
 As once in the days of yore,
 When love spoke sweetly to us,
 The love that speaks no more;
 The sound of thy voice may help him
 To speak in our hearts once more.

 Ah! over grieved my soul is,
 And tired and sick for sleep,
 As a poppy-bloom that withers,
 Forgotten, where reapers reap;
 As a harvested poppy-flower
 That dies where reapers reap.

 So bend to my face and kiss me
 As once in the days of yore,
 When the touch of thy lips was magic
 That restored to life once more;
 The thought of thy kiss, which awakens
 To life that love once more.


XI.

 Sitting often I have, oh!
 Often have desired you so - 
 Yearned to kiss you as I did
 When your love to me you gave,
 In the moonlight, by the wave,
 And a long impetuous kiss
 Pressed upon your mouth that chid,
 And upon each dewy lid - 
 That, all passion-shaken, I
 With love language will address
 Each dear thing I know you by,
 Picture, needle-work or frame:
 Each suggestive in the same
 Perfume of past happiness:
 Till, meseems, the ways we knew
 Now again I tread with you
 From the oldtime tryst: and there
 Feel the pressure of your hair
 Cool and easy on my cheek,
 And your breath's aroma: bare
 Hand upon my arm, as weak
 As a lily on a stream:
 And your eyes, that gaze at me
 With the sometime witchery,
 To my inmost spirit speak.
 And remembered ecstacy
 Sweeps my soul again ... I seem
 Dreaming, yet I do not dream.


XII.

 When day dies, lone, forsaken,
 And joy is kissed asleep;
 When doubt's gray eyes awaken,
 And love, with music taken
 From hearts with sighings shaken,
 Sits in the dusk to weep:

 With ghostly lifted finger
 What memory then shall rise? - 
 Of dark regret the bringer - 
 To tell the sorrowing singer
 Of days whose echoes linger,
 Till dawn unstars the skies.

 When night is gone and, beaming,
 Faith journeys forth to toil;
 When hope's blue eyes wake gleaming,
 And life is done with dreaming
 The dreams that seem but seeming,
 Within the world's turmoil:

 Can we forget the presence
 Of death who walks unseen?
 Whose scythe casts shadowy crescents
 Around life's glittering essence,
 As lessens, slowly lessens,
 The space that lies between.


XIII.

 Bland was that October day,
 Calm and balmy as the spring,
 When we went a forest-way,
 'Neath paternal beeches gray,
 To a valleyed opening:
 Where the purple aster flowered,
 And, like torches shadow-held,
 Red the fiery sumach towered;
 And, where gum-trees sentineled
 Vistas, robed in gold and garnet,
 Ripe the thorny chestnut shelled
 Its brown plumpness. Bee and hornet
 Droned around us; quick the cricket,
 Tireless in the wood-rose thicket,
 Tremoloed; and, to the wind
 All its moon-spun silver casting,
 Swung the milk-weed pod unthinned;
 And, its clean flame on the sod
 By the fading golden-rod,
 Burned the white life-everlasting.
 It was not so much the time,
 Nor the place, nor way we went,
 That made all our moods to rhyme,
 Nor the season's sentiment,
 As it was the innocent
 Carefree childhood of our hearts,
 Reading each expression of
 Death and care as life and love:
 That impression joy imparts
 Unto others and retorts
 On itself, which then made glad
 All the sorrow of decay,
 As the memory of that day
 Makes this day of spring, now, sad.


XIV.

 The balsam-breathed petunias
 Hang riven of the rain;
 And where the tiger-lily was
 Now droops a tawny stain;
 While in the twilight's purple pause
 Earth dreams of Heaven again.

 When one shall sit and sigh,
 And one lie all alone
 Beneath the unseen sky - 
 Whose love shall then deny?
 Whose love atone?

 With ragged petals round its pod
 The rain-wrecked poppy dies;
 And where the hectic rose did nod
 A crumbled crimson lies;
 While distant as the dreams of God
 The stars slip in the skies.

 When one shall lie asleep,
 And one be dead and gone - 
 Within the unknown deep,
 Shall we the trysts then keep
 That now are done?


XV.

 Holding both your hands in mine,
 Often have we sat together,
 While, outside, the boisterous weather
 Hung the wild wind on the pine
 Like a black marauder, and
 With a sudden warning hand
 At the casement rapped. The night
 Read no sentiment of light,
 Starbeam-syllabled, within
 Her romance of death and sin,
 Shadow-chaptered tragicly. - 
 Looking in your eyes, ah me!
 Though I heard, I did not heed
 What the night read unto us,
 Threatening and ominous:
 For love helped my heart to read
 Forward through unopened pages
 To a coming day, that held
 More for us than all the ages
 Past, that it epitomized
 In its sentence; where we spelled
 What our present realized
 Only - all the love that was
 Past and yet to be for us.


XVI.

 'Though in the garden, gray with dew,
 All life lies withering,
 And there's no more to say or do,
 No more to sigh or sing,
 Yet go we back the ways we knew,
 When buds were opening.

 Perhaps we shall not search in vain
 Within its wreck and gloom;
 'Mid roses ruined of the rain
 There still may live one bloom;
 One flower, whose heart may still retain
 The long-lost soul-perfume.

 And then, perhaps, will come to us
 The dreams we dreamed before;
 And song, who spoke so beauteous,
 Will speak to us once more;
 And love, with eyes all amorous,
 Will ope again his door.

 So 'though the garden's gray with dew,
 And flowers are withering,
 And there's no more to say or do,
 No more to sigh or sing,
 Yet go we back the ways we knew
 When buds were opening.


XVII.

 Looking on the desolate street,
 Where the March snow drifts and drives,
 Trodden black of hurrying feet,
 Where the athlete storm-wind strives
 With each tree and dangling light, - 
 Centers, sphered with glittering white, - 
 Hissing in the dancing snow ...
 Backward in my soul I go
 To that tempest-haunted night
 Of two autumns past, when we,
 Hastening homeward, were o'ertaken
 Of the storm; and 'neath a tree,
 With its wild leaves whisper-shaken,
 Sheltered us in that forsaken,
 Sad and ancient cemetery, - 
 Where folk came no more to bury. - 
 Haggard grave-stones, mossed and crumbled,
 Tottered 'round us, or o'ertumbled
 In their sunken graves; and some,
 Urned and obelisked above
 Iron-fenced in tombs, stood dumb
 Records of forgotten love.
 And again I see the west
 Yawning inward to its core
 Of electric-spasmed ore,
 Swiftly, without pause or rest.
 And a great wind sweeps the dust
 Up abandoned sidewalks; and,
 In the rotting trees, the gust
 Shouts again - a voice that would
 Make its gaunt self understood
 Moaning over death's lean land.
 And we sat there, hand in hand;
 On the granite; where we read,
 By the leaping skies o'erhead,
 Something of one young and dead.
 Yet the words begot no fear
 In our souls: you leaned your cheek
 Smiling on mine: very near
 Were our lips: we did not speak.


XVIII.

 And suddenly alone I stood
 With scared eyes gazing through the wood.
 For some still sign of ill or good,
 To lead me from the solitude.

 The day was at its twilighting;
 One cloud o'erhead spread a vast wing
 Of rosy thunder; vanishing
 Above the far hills' mystic ring.

 Some stars shone timidly o'erhead;
 And toward the west's cadaverous red - 
 Like some wild dream that haunts the dead
 In limbo - the lean moon was led.

 Upon the sad, debatable
 Vague lands of twilight slowly fell
 A silence that I knew too well,
 A sorrow that I can not tell.

 What way to take, what path to go,
 Whether into the east's gray glow,
 Or where the west burnt red and low - 
 What road to choose, I did not know.

 So, hesitating, there I stood
 Lost in my soul's uncertain wood:
 One sign I craved of ill or good,
 To lead me from its solitude.


XIX.

 It was autumn: and a night,
 Full of whispers and of mist,
 With a gray moon, wanly whist,
 Hanging like a phantom light
 O'er the hills. We stood among
 Windy fields of weed and flower,
 Where the withered seed pod hung,
 And the chill leaf-crickets sung.
 Melancholy was the hour
 With the mystery and loneness
 Of the year, that seemed to look
 On its own departed face;
 As our love then, in its oneness,
 All its dead past did retrace,
 And from that sad moment took
 Presage of approaching parting. - 
 Sorrowful the hour and dark:
 Low among the trees, now starting,
 Now concealed, a star's pale spark - 
 Like a fen-fire - winked and lured
 On to shuddering shadows; where
 All was doubtful, unassured,
 Immaterial; and the bare
 Facts of unideal day
 Changed to substance such as dreams.
 And meseemed then, far away - 
 Farther than remotest gleams
 Of the stars - lost, separated,
 And estranged, and out of reach,
 Grew our lives away from each,
 Loving lives, that long had waited.


XX.

 There is no gladness in the day
 Now you're away;
 Dull is the morn, the noon is dull,
 Once beautiful;
 And when the evening fills the skies
 With dusky dyes,
 With tired eyes and tired heart
 I sit alone, I sigh apart,
 And wish for you.

 Ah! darker now the night comes on
 Since you are gone;
 Sad are the stars, the moon is sad,
 Once wholly glad;
 And when the stars and moon are set,
 And earth lies wet,
 With heart's regret and soul's hard ache,
 I dream alone, I lie awake,
 And wish for you.

 These who once spake me, speak no more,
 Now all is o'er;
 Day hath forgot the language of
 Its hopes of love;
 Night, whose sweet lips were burdensome
 With dreams, is dumb;
 Far different from what used to be,
 With silence and despondency
 They speak to me.


XXI.

 So it ends - the path that crept
 Through a land all slumber-kissed;
 Where the sickly moonlight slept
 Like a pale antagonist.
 Now the star, that led us onward, - 
 Reassuring with its light, - 
 Fails and falters; dipping downward
 Leaves us wandering in night,
 With old doubts we once disdained ...
 So it ends. The woods attained - 
 Where our heart's desire builded
 A fair temple, fire-gilded,
 With hope's marble shrine within,
 Where the lineaments of our love
 Shone, with lilies clad and crowned,
 'Neath white columns reared above
 Sorrow and her sister sin,
 Columns, rose and ribbon-wound, - 
 In the forest we have found
 But a ruin! All around
 Lie the shattered capitals,
 And vast fragments of the walls ...
 Like a climbing cloud, - that plies,
 Wind-wrecked, o'er the moon that lies
 'Neath its blackness, - taking on
 Gradual certainties of wan,
 Soft assaults of easy white,
 Pale-approaching; till the skies'
 Emptiness and hungry night
 Claim its bulk again, while she
 Rides in lonely purity:
 So we found our temple, broken,
 And a musing moment's space
 Love, whose latest word was spoken,
 Seemed to meet us face to face,
 Making bright that ruined place
 With a strange effulgence; then
 Passed, and left all black again.

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Type of Poem: Narrative Poem

Date Written:

Date Published:

Language: English

Keywords: Public Domain

Source: Public Domain Collection

Publisher:

Rights/Permissions: Public Domain

Comments/Notes: This is a deeply introspective and melancholic poem that uses vivid imagery and metaphors to explore themes of love, loss, and memory. The poet skillfully employs the pastoral and natural world as a reflection of the speaker's emotional landscape. The structure of the poem, broken into separate sections, mirrors the fragmented nature of recollection and longing, as the speaker oscillates between past and present, hope and despair.

The recurring motifs of paths, journeys, and temporal shifts underscore the themes of longing and the passage of time, while the rich descriptions of the natural world convey the oscillating moods of the speaker. The utilization of metaphysical conceits, such as comparing the fading love to a ruined temple, is also notable, adding depth to the poem's exploration of love and loss.

The poem's tone is consistently melancholic, with a profound sense of longing permeating the lines. This is further emphasized by the recurring images of decay and the transience of beauty. The poet's use of language is evocative and emotive, eliciting a strong sense of empathy in the reader. The poem concludes on a somber note, with the once vibrant love now just a memory, echoing the ephemeral nature of life.