Читать книгу The Poems of Madison Cawein. Volume 2 (of 5) - Cawein Madison Julius - Страница 17

Myths tell of walls and cities, lyred of love,

That rose to music.—Were that power my own,

Had I that harp, that magic barbiton,

What had I builded for our lives thereof?—

In docile shadows under bluebell skies,

A home upon the poppied edge of eve,

Beneath pale peaks the splendors never leave,

’Mid lemon orchards whence the egret flies.

Where, pitiless, the ruined hand of death

Should never reach. No bud, no flower fade:

Where all were perfect, pure and unafraid:

And life serener than an angel’s breath.

The days should move to music: song should tame

The nights, attentive with their listening stars:

And morn outrival eve in opal bars,

Each preaching beauty with rose-tongues of flame.

O home! O life! desired and to be!

How shall we reach you?—Far the way and dim.—

Give me your hand, sweet! let us follow him,

Love with the madness and the melody.