The Poetry Corner

My Lady Of The Beeches

By Madison Julius Cawein

Here among the beeches Winds and wild perfume, That the twilight pleaches Into gleam and gloom, Build for her a room. Her whose Beauty cometh, Misty as the morn, When the wild-bee hummeth, At its honey-horn, In the wayside thorn. As the wood grows dimmer, With the drowsy night, Like a moonbeam glimmer Here she walks in white, With a firefly light. Moths around her flitting, Like a moth she goes, Here a moment sitting By this wilding rose, With my heart's repose. Every bud and flower From her look has caught Something of that hour While she stood in thought Gazing into naught. Every bough that dances Has assumed the grace Of her form; and fancies, Flashed from eye and face, Brood about the place. Every wind that flutters, Says what is expressed Of her heart and utters Sounds of peace and rest Pulsing in her breast. And the water, shaken In its plunge and poise, To itself has taken Quiet of her voice, And restrains its joys. Would that these could tell me What and whence she is, She, who doth enspell me, Fill my soul with bliss Of her spirit-kiss. Though the heart beseech her, And the soul implore, Who is it may reach her, Safe behind the door Of all woodland lore?