Myth and Romance - Being a Book of Verses by Madison Julius Cawein
page 8 of 119 (06%)
page 8 of 119 (06%)
![]() | ![]() |
|
Of leaves; and now with syllables of birds;
While here and there--is it her limbs that swing? Or restless sunlight on the moss and weeds? II Or, haply, 't is a Naiad now who slips, Like some white lily, from her fountain's glass, While from her dripping hair and breasts and hips, The moisture rains cool music on the grass. Her have I heard and followed, yet, alas! Have seen no more than the wet ray that dips The shivered waters, wrinkling where I pass; But, in the liquid light, where she doth hide, I have beheld the azure of her gaze Smiling; and, where the orbing ripple plays, Among her minnows I have heard her lips, Bubbling, make merry by the waterside. III Or now it is an Oread--whose eyes Are constellated dusk--who stands confessed, As naked as a flow'r; her heart's surprise, Like morning's rose, mantling her brow and breast: She, shrinking from my presence, all distressed |
|