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Unanointed Post by :Christine_M Category :Poems Author :Madison Julius Cawein Date :September 2011 Read :2288

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Upon the Siren-haunted seas, between Fate's mythic shores,
Within a world of moon and mist, where dusk and daylight wed,
I see a phantom galley and its hull is banked with oars,
With ghostly oars that move to song, a song of dreams long dead:

"Oh, we are sick of rowing here!
With toil our arms are numb;
With smiting year on weary year
Salt-furrows of the foam:
Our journey's end is never near,
And will no nearer come--
Beyond our reach the shores appear
Of far Elysium."


Within a land of cataracts and mountains old and sand,
Beneath whose heavens ruins rise, o'er which the stars burn red,
I see a spectral cavalcade with crucifix in hand
And shadowy armor march and sing, a song of dreams long dead:

"Oh, we are weary marching on!
Our limbs are travel-worn;
With cross and sword from dawn to dawn
We wend with raiment torn:
The leagues to go, the leagues we've gone
Are sand and rock and thorn--
The way is long to Avalon
Beyond the deeps of morn."


They are the curs'd! the souls who yearn and evermore pursue
The vision of a vain desire, a splendor far ahead;
To whom God gives the poet's dream without the grasp to do,
The artist's hope without the scope between the quick and dead:

I, too, am weary toiling where
The winds and waters beat;
When shall I ease the oar I bear
And rest my tired feet?
When will the white moons cease to glare,
The red suns veil their heat?
And from the heights blow sweet the air
Of Love's divine retreat?

(The end)
Madison Julius Cawein's poem: Unanointed

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The End Of All The End Of All

The End Of All
I. I do not love you now, O narrow heart, that had no heights but pride! You, whom mine fed; to whom yours still denied Food when mine hungered, and of which love died-- I do not love you now. II. I do not love you now, O shallow soul, with depths but to deceive! You, whom mine watered; to whom yours did give No drop to

Ah Me! Ah Me!

Ah Me!
When maiden loves, she sits and sighs,She wanders to and fro;Unbidden tear-drops fill her eyes,And to all questions she replies,With a sad heigho!'Tis but a little word - "heigho!"So soft, 'tis scarcely heard - "heigho!"An idle breath -Yet life and deathMay hang upon a maid's "heigho!"When maiden loves, she mopes apart,As owl mopes on a tree;Although she keenly feels the smart,She cannot tell what ails her heart,With its sad "Ah me!"'Tis but a foolish sigh - "Ah me!"Born but to droop and die - "Ah me!"Yet all the senseOf eloquenceLies hidden in a maid's "Ah me!"(The end)W. S. Gilbert's poem: Ah