Madison Cawein - Days and Dreams - Poems

O lyrist of the lowly and the true,
The song I sought for you
Hides yet unsung. What hope for me to find,
Lost in the dædal mind,
The living utterance with lovely tongue!
To say, as erst was sung
By Ariosto of Knight-errantry, —
Through lands of Poesy,
Song's Paladin, knight of the dream and day,
The wizard shield you sway
Of that Atlantes power, sweet and terse,
The skyey-builded verse:
The shield that dazzles, brilliant with surprise,
Our unanointed eyes. —
Oh, had I written as 't were worthy you,
Each line, a spark of dew, —
As once Ferdusi shone in Persia, —
Had strung each rosy spray
Of the unfolding flower of each song;
And Iran's bulbul tongue
Had sobbed its heart out o'er the fountain's slab
In gardens of Afrasiab.

Herein the dearness of her is:
The thirty perfect days of June
Made one, in beauty and in bliss
Were not more white to have to kiss,
To love not more in tune.

And oft I think she is too true,
Too innocent for our day;
For in her eyes her soul looks new —
Two crowfoot-blossoms watchet-blue
Are not more soft than they.

So good, so kind is she to me,
In darling ways and happy words,
Sometimes my heart fears she may be
Too much with God and secretly
Sweet sister to the birds.

The owls are quavering, two, now three,
And all the green is graying;
The owls our trysting dials be —
There is no time for staying.

I wait you where this buckeye throws
Its tumbled shadow over
Wood-violet and the bramble-rose,
Long lady-fern and clover.

Spice-seeded sassafras weighs deep
Rough rail and broken paling,
Where all day long the lizards sleep
Like lichen on the railing.

Behind you you will feel the moon's
Gold stealing like young laughter;
And mists – gray ghosts of picaroons —
Its phantom treasure after.

And here together, youth and youth,
Love will be doubly able;
Each be to each as true as truth,
And dear as fairy fable.

The owls are calling and the maize
With fallen dew is dripping —
Ah, girlhood, through the dewy haze
Come like a moonbeam slipping.

There is a fading inward of the day,
And all the pansy sunset hugs one star;
To eastward dwindling all the land is gray,
While barley meadows westward smoulder far.

Now to your glass will you pass
For the last time?
Pass,
Humming that ballad we know? —
Here while I wait it is late
And is past time —
Late,
And love's hours they go, they go.

There is a drawing downward of the night;
The wedded Heaven wends married to the Moon;
Above, the heights hang golden in her light,
Below, the woods bathe dewy in the June.

There through the dew is it you
Coming lawny?
You,
Or a moth in the vines?
You! – at your throat I may note
Twinkling tawny,
Note,
A glow-worm, your brooch that shines.

How many smiles in the asking? —
Herein I can not deceive you;
My "yes" in a "no" was a-masking,
Nor thought, dear, once to grieve you.
I hid. The humming-bird happiness here
Danced up i' the blood … but what are words
When the speech of two souls all truth affords?
Affirmative, negative what in love's ear? —
I wished to say "yes" and somehow said "no";
The woman within me knew you would know,
For it held you six times dear.

So many hopes in a wooing! —
Therein you could not deceive me;
The heart was here and the hope pursuing,
Knew that you loved, believe me. —
Bunched bells o' the blush pomegranate – to fix
At your throat; three drops of fire they are;
And the maiden moon and the maiden star
Sink silvery over yon meadow ricks.
Will you look? – till I hug your head back, so —
For I know it is "yes" though you whisper "no," —
And my kisses, sweet, are six.

Could I recall every joy that befell me
There in the past with its anguish and bliss,
Here in my heart it has whispered to tell me,
These were no joys to this.

Were it not well if our love could forget them,
Veiling the was with the dawn of the is ?
Dead with the past we should never regret them,
These were no joys to this.

When they were gone and the present stood speechful,
Ardent with word and with look and with kiss,
What though we know that their eyes are beseechful,
These were no joys to this.

Is it not well to have more of the spirit,
Living high futures this earthly must miss?
Less of the flesh with the past pining near it? —
Such is the joy of this.

We will leave reason,
Dear, for a season;
Reason were treason
Since yonder nether
Foot-hills are clad now
In nothing sad now;
We will be glad now,
Glad as this weather.
Heart and heart! in the Maytime, Maytime,
Youth and Love take playtime, playtime …
I in the dairy; you are the airy
Majesty passing; Love is the fairy
Bringing us two together.

Starlight in masses
Of mist that passes,
Stars in the grasses;
Star-bud and flower
Laughingly know us;
Secretly show us
Earth is below us
And for the hour
Soul has soul. In the Maytime, Maytime,
Youth and Love take playtime, playtime …
You are a song; a singer I hear it
Whispered in star and in flower; the spirit,
Love, is the power.

And say we can not wed us now,
Since roses and the June are here,
Meseems, beneath the beechen bough
'T is just as sweet, my doubly dear,
To swear anew each old love vow,
And love another year.

When breathe green woodlands through and through
Wild scents of heliotrope and rain,
Where deep the moss mounds cool with dew,
Beyond the barley-blowing lane,
More wise than wedding, is to woo —
So we will woo again.

All night I lie awake and mark
The hours by no clanging clock,
But in the dim and dewy dark
Far crowing of some punctual cock;
Until the lyric of the lark
Mounts and Morn's gates unlock.

And would you be a nun and miss
All this delightful ache of love?
Not have the moon for what she is?
Love's honey-horn God holds above —
No world, for worlds are in a kiss
If worlds are good enough.

So say we can not wed us now,
Since roses and the June are here
We 'll stroll beneath the doddered bough,
Heaven's mated songsters singing near,
To swear anew each old love vow,
And love another year.