Читать книгу Shapes and Shadows - Cawein Madison Julius - Страница 11

A weed-grown slope, whereon the rain

Has washed the brown rocks bare,

Leads tangled from a lonely lane

Down to a creek's broad stair

Of stone, that, through the solitude,

Winds onward to a quiet wood.

An intermittent roof of shade

The beech above it throws;

Along its steps a balustrade

Of beauty builds the rose;

In which, a stately lamp of green

At intervals the cedar's seen.

The water, carpeting each ledge

Of rock that runs across,

Glints 'twixt a flow'r-embroidered edge

Of ferns and grass and moss;

And in its deeps the wood and sky

Seem patterns of the softest dye.

Long corridors of pleasant dusk

Within the house of leaves

It reaches; where, on looms of musk,

The ceaseless locust weaves

A web of summer; and perfume

Trails a sweet gown from room to room.

Green windows of the boughs, that swing,

It passes, where the notes

Of birds are glad thoughts entering,

And butterflies are motes;

And now a vista where the day

Opens a door of wind and ray.

It is a stairway for all sounds

That haunt the woodland sides;

On which, boy-like, the southwind bounds,

Girl-like, the sunbeam glides;

And, like fond parents, following these,

The oldtime dreams of rest and peace.