Explore "The Dead Day" by Madison Cawein on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
/ The west builds high a sepulcher / Of cloudy granite and of gold, / Where twilight's priestly hours inter / The Day like some great king of old.
/ A censer, rimmed with silver fire, / The new moon swings above his tomb; / While, organ-stops of God's own choir, / Star after star throbs in the gloom.
/ And Night draws near, the sadly sweet -- / A nun whose face is calm and fair -- / And kneeling at the dead Day's feet / Her soul goes up in mists like prayer.
/ In prayer, we feel through dewy gleam / And flowery fragrance, and -- above / All earth -- the ecstasy and dream / That haunt the mystic heart of love.