Poems of Madison Cawein Vol. 3 — On Chenoweth’s Run

ON CHENOWETH’S RUN

I thought of the road through the glen, With its hawk’s nest high in the pine;

With its rock, where the fox had his den, ’Mid tangles of sumach and vine, Where she swore to be mine.

I thought of the creek and its banks, Now glooming, now gleaming with sun;

The rustic bridge builded of planks, The bridge over Chenoweth’s Run, Where I wooed her and won.

I thought of the house in the lane, With its pinks and its sweet mignonette;

Its fence, and the gate with its chain, Its porch where the roses hung wet, Where I kissed her and met.

Then I thought of the family graves, Walled rudely with stone, in the West, Where the sorrowful cedar-tree waves, And the wind is a spirit distressed, Where they laid her to rest.

And my soul, overwhelmed with despair, Cried out on the city and mart!

-- How I longed, how I longed to be there, Away from the struggle and smart, By her and my heart.

By her and my heart in the West,-- Laid sadly together as one;-- On her grave for a moment to rest, Far away from the noise and the sun, On Chenoweth’s Run.