Revisited

written by


« Reload image

It was beneath a waning moon when all the woods were sear,
  And winds made eddies of the leaves that whispered far and near,
  I met her on the old mill-bridge we parted at last year.

  At first I deemed it but a mist that faltered in that place,
  An autumn mist beneath the trees that sentineled the race;
  Until I neared and in the moon beheld her face to face.

  The waver of the summer-heat upon the drouth-dry leas;
  The shimmer of the thistle-drift a down the silences;
  The gliding of the fairy-fire between the swamp and trees;

  They qualified her presence as a sorrow may a dream--
  The vague suggestion of a self; the glimmer of a gleam;
  The actual unreal of the things that only seem.

  Where once she came with welcome and glad eyes all loving-wise,
  She passed and gave no greeting that my heart might recognize,
  With far-set face unseeing and sad unremembering eyes.

  It was beneath a waning moon when woods were bleak and sear,
  And winds made whispers of the leaves that eddied far and near,
  I met her ghost upon the bridge we parted at last year.

© Madison Julius Cawein