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Poem by Madison Julius Cawein


The Passing Glory


Slow sinks the sun, a great carbuncle ball
Red in the cavern of a sombre cloud,
And in her garden, where the dense weeds crowd,
Among her dying asters stands the Fall,
Like some lone woman in a ruined hall,
Dreaming of desolation and the shroud;
Or through decaying woodlands goes, down-bowed,
Hugging the tatters of her gipsy shawl.
The gaunt wind rises, like an angry hand,
And sweeps the sprawling spider from its web,
Smites frantic music in the twilight's ear;
And all around, like melancholy sand,
Rains dead leaves down wild leaves, that mark the ebb,
In Earth's dark hour-glass, of another year.



Madison Julius Cawein


Madison Julius Cawein's other poems:
  1. The Sweet o' the Year
  2. Womanhood
  3. Corncob Jones
  4. Dawn in the Alleghanies
  5. Heart of My Heart


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