Читать книгу Poems - Cawein Madison Julius - Страница 7

  Among the white haw-blossoms, where the creek

  Droned under drifts of dogwood and of haw,

  The redbird, like a crimson blossom blown

  Against the snow-white bosom of the Spring,

  The chaste confusion of her lawny breast,

  Sang on, prophetic of serener days,

  As confident as June's completer hours.

  And I stood listening like a hind, who hears

  A wood nymph breathing in a forest flute

  Among the beech-boles of myth-haunted ways:

  And when it ceased, the memory of the air

  Blew like a syrinx in my brain: I made

  A lyric of the notes that men might know:

    He flies with flirt and fluting—

        As flies a crimson star

    From flaming star-beds shooting—

        From where the roses are.

    Wings past and sings; and seven

        Notes, wild as fragrance is,—

    That turn to flame in heaven,—

        Float round him full of bliss.

    He sings; each burning feather

        Thrills, throbbing at his throat;

    A song of firefly weather,

        And of a glowworm boat:

    Of Elfland and a princess

        Who, born of a perfume,

    His music rocks,—where winces

        That rosebud's cradled bloom.

    No bird sings half so airy,

        No bird of dusk or dawn,

    Thou masking King of Faery!

        Thou red-crowned Oberon!