SIBYLLINE

by: Madison Julius Cawein (1865-1914)

HERE is a glory in the apple boughs

Of silver moonlight; like a torch of myrrh,

Burning upon an altar of sweet vows,

Dropped from the hand of some wan worshipper:

And there is life among the apple blooms

Of whisp’ring winds; as if a god addressed

The flamen from the sanctuary glooms

With secrets of the bourne that hope hath guessed,

Saying: ‘Behold! a darkness which illumes,

A waking which is rest.’

 

There is a blackness in the apple trees

Of tempest; like the ashes of an urn

Hurt hands have gathered upon blistered knees,

With salt of tears, out of the flames that burn:

And there is death among the blooms, that fill

The night with breathless scent,--as when, above

The priest, the vision of his faith doth will

Forth from his soul the beautiful form thereof,--

Saying: ‘Behold! a silence never still;

The other form of love.’

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