Читать книгу Blooms of the Berry - Cawein Madison Julius - Страница 12

… Fresh from bathing in orient fountains,

In wells of rock water and snow,

Comes the Dawn with her pearl-brimming fingers

O'er the thyme and the pines of yon mountain;

Where she steps young blossoms fresh blow…

And sweet as the star-beams in fountains,

And soft as the fall of the dew,

Wet as the hues of the rain-arch,

To me was the Dawn when on mountains

Pearl-capped o'er the hyaline blue,

Saint-fair and pure thro' the blue,

Her spirit in dimples comes dancing,

In dimples of light and of fire,

Planting her footprints in roses

On the floss of the snow-drifts, while glancing

Large on her brow is her tire,

Gemmed with the morning-star's fire.

But sweet as the incense from altars,

And warm as the light on a cloud,

Sad as the wail of bleak woodlands,

To me was the Night when she falters

In the sorrowful folds of her shroud,

In the far-blowing black of her shroud,

O'er the flower-strewn bier of her lover,

The Day lying faded and fair

In the red-curtained chambers of air.

When disheveled I've seen her uncover

Her gold-girdled raven of hair —

All hooped with the gold of the even —

And for this sad burial prepare,

The spirit of Night in the heaven

To me was most wondrously fair,

So fair that I wished it were given

To die in the rays of her hair,

Die wrapped in her gold-girdled hair.