Public Domain Poetry And Stories - Demeter. by Madison Julius Cawein
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Demeter.

    By Madison Julius Cawein



    Demeter sad! the wells of sorrow lay
    Eternal gushing in thy lonely path.

    Methinks I see her now - an awful shape
    Tall o'er a dragon team in frenzied search
    From Argive plains unto the jeweled shores
    Of the remotest Ind, where Usha's hand
    Tinged her grief-cloven brow with kindly touch,
    And Savitar wheeled genial thro' the skies
    O'er palmy regions of the faneless Brahm.

    In melancholy search I see her roam
    O'er the steep peaks of Himalayas keen
    With the unmellowed frosts of Boreal storms,
    Then back again with that wild mother woe
    Writ in the anguished fire of her eyes, -
    Back where old Atlas groans 'neath weight of worlds,
    And the Cimmerian twilight glooms the soul.
    Deep was her sleep in Persia's haunted vales,
    Where many a languid Philomela moaned
    The bursting sorrow of a bursting soul.
    I see her nigh Ionia's swelling seas
    Cull from the sands a labyrinthine shell,
    And hark the mystery of its eery voice
    Float from the hollow windings of its curl,
    Then cast it far into the weedy sea
    To view the salt-spray flash, like one soft plume
    Dropped from the wings of Eros, 'gainst the flame
    Of Helios' car down-sloping toward his bath.
    I see her beg a coral flute of red
    From a tailed Triton; and on Ithakan rocks
    High seated at the starry death of day,
    When Selene rose from off her salty couch
    To smile a glory on her face of sorrow,
    Pipe forth sad airs that made the Sirens weep
    In their green caves beneath the sodden sands,
    And hoar Poseidon clear his wrinkled front
    And still his surgy clamors to a sigh.

    This do I see, and more; ah! yes, far more:
    I see her, 'mid the lonely groves of Crete,
    The wild hinds fright from the o'ervaulted green
    Of thickest boscage, tangling their close covert,
    With horror of her torches and her wail,
    "Persephone! Persephone!" till the pines
    Of rugged Dicte shuddered thro' their cones,
    And Echo shrieked down in her deepest chasms
    A wild reply unto her wild complaint;
    As wild as when she voiced those maidens' woe,
    Athenian tribute to stern Minos, king,
    When coiling grim the Minotaur they saw
    Far in his endless labyrinth of stone.



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