Poems by Madison Julius Cawein

Here, from the heights, among the rocks and pines,

Why speak of Rajah rubies,

Summer may come, in sun-blonde splendor,

The "happy year" of 1914

One tree, storm-twisted, like an evil hag,

It's out and away at break of day,

A Broken rainbow on the skies of May,

Why speak of Giamschid rubies

I.

The hills hang woods around, where green, below

With moon-white hearts that held a gleam

He lived beyond men, and so stood

He lived beyond men, and so stood

Nevermore at doorways that are barken

Bee-Bitten in the orchard hung

There is a place I search for still,

I Heard a reed among the hills,

I.

Rain will fall on the fading flowers,

There is a house beside a way,

Oh, for some cup of consummating might,

Pale as a star that shines through rain

Rain and wind and candlelight

I.

I.

Frail, shrunken face, so pinched and worn,

Frail, shrunken face, so pinched and worn,

I.

What magic through your snowy crystal gleams!

The locust gyres; the heat intensifies'

I

I.

I.

Life was unkind to him;

I know a pool, whose crystalline repose

I.

It's - Oh, for the hills, where the wind's some one

It's Oh, for the hills, where the wind's some one

On southern winds shot through with amber light,

A rollicking song for the morn, my boy,

I.

I

Be of good cheer, and have no fear

Cheer, though you part at morn!

I.

I.

The drowsy day, with half-closed eyes,

White clouds, like thistledown at fault,

A friend for you and a friend for me,

All day the primroses have thought of thee,

Dusk is thy dawn; when Eve puts on its state

Dusk is thy dawn; when Eve puts on her state

I

I.

Dark, drear, and drizzly, with vapor grizzly,

That day we wandered 'mid the hills,—so lone

White moons may come, white moons may go -

White moons may come, white moons may go

The old gate clicks, and down the walk,

War and Disaster, Famine and Pestilence,

The hornets build in plaster-dropping rooms,

The hornets build in plaster-dropping rooms,

Hold to the rapture: let it work

He held himself splendidly forward

Seemingly over the hill-tops,

A barren field o'ergrown with thorn and weed

The rain made ruin of the rose and frayed

The hillside smokes

There is a place hung o'er of summer boughs

There is a place hung o'er of summer boughs

Behold the blossom-bosomed Day again,

Great clouds of sullen seal and gold

What vague traditions do the golden eves,

Across the world she sends me word,

Athwart a sky of brass long welts of gold;

Where the violet shadows brood

From "Beltenebros at Miraflores"

From "Beltenebros at Miraflores"

The barberry burns, the rose-hip crimsons warm,

I.

He was a boy, sun-burned and brown,

Here is a tale for men and women teachers:

I.

Old days, old ways, old homes beside the sea;

The night is loud with reeds of rain

I

I.

Before I found her I had found

Before I found her I had found

How often in our search for joy below

I.

With argosies of dawn he sails,

With argosies of dawn he sails,

I

I.

At midnight in the trysting wood

Pale faces looked up at me, up from the earth, like flowers;

Into the sunset's turquoise marge

Into the sunset's turquoise marge

This is the truth as I see it, my dear,

One bright star in the firmament,

I.

It's "Gallop and go!" and "Slow, now, slow!"

I Saw the daughters of the Dawn come dancing o'er the hills;

Awake! the dawn is on the hills!

Awake! the dawn is on the hills!

I.

The unpretentious flowers of the woods,

The bitter-sweet and red-haw in her hands,

I.

Ah me! too soon the autumn comes

Ah me! too soon the autumn comes

The wind is rising and the leaves are swept

Like colored lanterns swung in Elfin towers,

I Dreamed my soul went wandering in

Once a rabbit crossed my road

John-A-Dreams and Harum-Scarum

John-a-dreams and Harum-Scarum

O heart, - that beat the bird's blithe blood,

O Heart, that beat the bird's blithe blood,

Be glad, just for to-day!

I

I.

High as a star, yet lowly as a flower,

High as a star, yet lowly as a flower,

The gods are dead; but still for me

The gods are dead; but still for me

The wild oxalis

I.

Before the rain, low in the obscure east,

I.

Below the sunset's range of rose,

Below the sunset's range of rose,

Knight and Troubadour, to his Lady the Beautiful Maenz of Martagnac

The day, all fierce with carmine, turns

O Days that hold us; and years that mold us!

(In Memoriam)

We tightened stirrup; buckled rein;

As I went through the wood, the wood,

A Far bell tinkles in the hollow,

Sunlight and shrill cicada and the low,

Meseemed that while she played, while lightly yet

Blow high, blow low!

I.

Written Of Colossal Cave, Kentucky

I.

Ever since man was man a Fiend has stood

A Little child, one night, awoke and cried,

Christmas Eve is here at last.

Clouds of the autumn night,

Who knows the things they dream, alas!

Yea, whom He loves the Lord God chasteneth

With eyes hand-arched he looks into

With eyes hand-arched he looks into

Within the soul are throned two powers,

I.

When I behold how some pursue

An Oldham-County Weather Philosopher.

Under mossy oak and pine

The waters leap,

The days that clothed white limbs with heat,

The days that clothed white limbs with heat,

Leaves fall and flowers fade,

Out of it all but this remains:

He rode adown the autumn wood,

Through some strange sense of sight or touch

Here is a tale for any man or woman:

I.

I. SPRING ON THE HILLS

How shall it be with them that day

I.

The day is dead; and in the west

The day is dead; and in the west

What is it now that I shall seek

What is it now that I shall seek

Those unrequited in their love who die

I

Far as the eye can see the land is grey,

I

On receiving a bottle of Sherry Wine of the same name

Made a face of biscuit-dough,

Ye have ploughed the field like cattle,

I took the road again last night

They mock the present and they haunt the past,

I

I.

The road is drowned in dust; the winds vibrate

Corn-colored clouds upon a sky of gold,

Corn-colored clouds upon a sky of gold,

Three miles of trees it is: and I

Three miles of trees it is: and I

Corn-Colored clouds upon a sky of gold,

I Saw the day like some great monarch die,

Dweller in hollow places, hills and rocks,

The white moth-mullein brushed its slim

The white moth-mullein brushed its slim

I.

I

I.

The deep seclusion of this forest path, -

The deep seclusion of this forest path,

The deep seclusion of this forest path,

I.

I.

There is a world Life dreams of, long since lost:

We have worshipped two gods from our earliest youth,

There is nothing that eases my heart so much

I

From out the hills where twilight stands,

From out the hills, where twilight stands,

From out the hills where twilight stands,

Three memories hold us ever

No ray, no will-o'-wisp, no firefly gleam;

There are some souls

There's a little fairy who

A Mile of lane, hedged high with iron-weeds

'T was Fiddledeedee who put to sea

I

I.

There is a field, that leans upon two hills,

I.

These are the things I pray Heaven send us still,

'T is n't long till Christmas now.

I.

Fortune may pass us by:

Within the hollowed hand of God,

Down through the woods, along the way

Down through the woods, along the way

I heard the toads and frogs last night

The road leads up a hill through many a brake,

Magician he, who, autumn nights,

March set heel upon the flowers,

I.

To weed the Garden of the Mind

Thin, chisel-fine a cricket chipped

Thin, chisel-fine a cricket chipped

"Succinctae sacra Dianae".

"Succinctæ sacra Dianæ."

I

I.

Geraldine, Geraldine,

When the hoot of the owl comes over the hill,

Low, weed-climbed cliffs, o'er which at noon

Was it the strain of the waltz that, repeating

I.

With fall on fall, from wood to wood,

I.

I.

It is not well

Febrile perfumes as of faded roses

It was down in the woodland on last Hallowe'en,

All hushed of glee,

Around its mountain many footpaths wind,

There is a voice that calls to me; a voice that cries deep down;

I can't get up with the chickens;

There are haunters of the silence, ghosts that hold the heart and brain:

Here where the season turns the land to gold,

I.

Heaped in raven loops and masses

In the frail hepaticas, -

In the frail hepaticas,

There is no Paradise like that which lies

The gladness of our Southern spring; the grace

Were I an artist, Lydia, I

She kneels with haggard eyes and hair

To me not only does her soul suggest

The path that winds by wood and stream

I.

There is a place among the Cape Ann hills

I.

I dream again I 'm in the lane

Far down the lane

If heart be tired and soul be sad

She mutters and stoops by the lone bayou

Within the world of every man's desire

Hope on, dear Heart, and you will see

The cuckoo-sorrel paints with pink

I

I

I.

The pink rose drops its petals on

The pink rose drops its petals on

I Stood upon a height and listened to

Old phantoms haunt it of the long ago;

I remember, when a child,

I remember, when a child,

I.

The hush of death is on the night. The corn,

Here went a horse with heavy laboring stride

I

I

I.

When pearl and gold, o'er deeps of musk,

I.

Amber and emerald, cairngorm and chrysoprase,

What sighed the Forest to the nest?

One well might deem, among these miles of woods,

When the hornet hangs in the hollyhock,

When the hornet hangs in the hollyhock,

I.

In the shadow of the beeches,

In the shadow of the beeches,

I.

The waterfall, deep in the wood,

The waterfall, deep in the wood,

The dawn is a warp of fever,

All who have toiled for Art, who've won or lost,

I.

I

I.

I

What were this life without her?

One with the Heaven above

Joy's is the magic sweet,

Now 'tis the time when, tall,

I.

You, who are met to remember

Onward he gallops through enchanted gloom.

We have sent him seeds of the melon's core,

We have sent him seeds of the melon's core,

I.

Clumped in the shadow of the beech,

In her vast church of glimmering blue,

I.

I.

I

Where, through the myriad leaves of forest trees,

Where, through the myriad leaves of forest trees,

I.

I.

Within the world of every man's desire

I.

My nurse she tells me stories, too,

Little boy sleepy won't go to bed,

Little Girlie Good Enough

I.

I came upon a pool that shone,

I.

Loss molds our lives in many ways,

Love one day, in childish anger,

All were in league to capture Love

Can one resolve and hunt it from one's heart?

I.

The spring may come in her pomp and splendor,

Thou art the music that I hear in sleep,

Over the roar of cities,

How good it is, when overwrought,

John-A-Dreams and Harum-Scarum

To Friendship drink, and then to Love,

What will you send her,

At the moon's down-going let it be

At the moon's down-going, let it be

This is the tomboy month of all the year,

This is the tomboy month of all the year,

"There, at the moated grange, resides this dejected Mariana."

A beardless crew we launched our little boat;

Lying alone I dreamed a dream last night:

Death rides black-masked to-night; and through the land

The golden discs of the rattlesnake-weed,

The golden discs of the rattlesnake-weed,

I.

A tranquil bar

Through ferns and moss the path wound to

Bleak, in dark rags of clouds, the day begins,

Bleak, in dark rags of clouds, the day begins,

The memory of what we've lost

All day the clouds hung ashen with the cold;

I

I.

Oh, Mignon's mouth is like a rose,

I.

Scene, the Arizona Desert, its most desolate part.

In classic beauty, cold, immaculate,

When by the wall the tiger-flower swings

When by the wall the tiger-flower swings

The moon, a circle of gold,

How long we had hid there and listened,

In dim samite was she bedight,

Where rise the brakes of bramble there,

Oh, I am going home again,

Since Fancy taught me in her school of spells

O voice of ecstasy and lyric pain,

God-born before the Sons of God, she hurled,

Oh, let me die in Music's arms,

Thou, oh, thou!

Thou, oh, thou!

White roses, like a mist

I

I.

Inspiration.

I.

Here among the beeches

If it so befalls that the midnight hovers

If it so befalls that the midnight hovers

Soft and silken and silvery brown,

I

I

Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.

The season of the rose and peace is past:

Love hath no place in her,

Out of the East, as from an unknown shore,

The night has set her outposts there

I heard the wind last night that cried and wept

A disc of violet blue,

Noëra, when sad Fall

Noëra, when sad Fall

Don't know what to do to-day.

I

I.

From the idyll "Wild Thorn and Lily"

From the idyll "Wild Thorn and Lily"

Far off a wind blew, and I heard

Far off a wind blew, and I heard

I Oft have met her slowly wandering

Long hosts of sunlight, and the bright wind blows

Red-Faced as old carousal, and with eyes

An Ode to be read on the laying of the foundation stone of the new Oglethorpe University, January, 1915, at Atlanta, Georgia

Clove-spicy pinks and phlox that fill the sense

Old homes among the hills! I love their gardens;

Old homes among the hills! I love their gardens,

Old homes among the hills! I love their gardens;

Last night we were kept awake.

Old Man Rain at the windowpane

There is nothing at all to do to-day.

Bald, with old eyes a blood-shot blue, he comes

Old Sis Snow, with hair ablow,

I.

I Thought of the road through the glen,

I.

I.

I had forgot how, in my day

They hold their own, they have no peers

Down all the lanterned Bagdad of our youth

There is no inspiration in the view.

Let us bid the world good-by,

With her 't is well now. She died young,

I

I.

Behold a hag whom Life denies a kiss

On nights like this, when bayou and lagoon

I

I.

Spare us our Dreams, O God! The dream we dreamed

I.

Non numero horas nisi serenas

Non numero horas nisi serenas

Here where the coves indent the shore and fall

I

I.

Baroque, but beautiful, between the lunes,

I am a part of all you see

I am a part of all you see

High on a throne of noisome ooze and heat,

This was her home; one mossy gable thrust

This was her home; one mossy gable thrust

The vat-like cups of the fungus, filled

Upon the summit of his Century

Who hath beheld the goddess face to face,

Summer met Sleep at sunset,

Let us go far from here!

Above the world a glare

I

I.

I saw the Summer through her garden go,

How often hope's fair flower blooms richest where

Man's are the learnings of his books -

Man's are the learnings of his books

There are some things I call riddles,

Universes are the pages

Oh, for a soul that fulfills

There is no rhyme that is half so sweet

There is a poetry that speaks

What loveliness the years contrive

Whether it be that we in letters trace

Whether it be that we in letters trace

A Log-Hut in the solitude,

From the lyrical eclogue "One Day and Another"

From the lyrical eclogue"One Day and Another"

I.

Around, the stillness deepened; then the grain

I.

When on the leaves the rain persists,

The locust builds its are of sound

I

Listen, dearest! you must love me more,

I.

High in the place of outraged liberty,

I

I.

The roses mourn for her who sleeps

There is a music of immaculate love,

Dear heart and love! what happiness to sit

A sense of sadness in the golden air;

A Sense of sadness in the golden air,

What ogive gates from gold of Ophir wrought,

What mines the morning heavens unfold!

I.

His Birthday, October the 7th, 1912

Master of human harmonies, where gong

Oh, go not to the lonely hill,

Thus have I pictured her: - In Arden old

Thus have I pictured her: In Arden old

"I rode to death, for I fought for shame--

Above the circus of the world she sat,

All the roses now are gone,

I had the strangest dream last night:

See how the rose leaves fall

Above her, pearl and rose the heavens lay;

When my mother is n't here,

Miranda-like, above the world she waves

I.

An agate-black, your roguish eyes

An agate-black, your roguish eyes

The partridge-berry flecks with flame the way

The bubbled blue of morning-glory spires,

Here is a tale for proper men and virgins:

I passed a cottage 'twixt the town and wood,

The doubtful dawn came dim and wan,

Dark in the west the sunset's sombre wrack

I found myself among the trees

I found myself among the trees

The dim verbena drugs the dusk

Sleep is a spirit, who beside us sits,

Deep-hearted roses of the purple dusk

The face of the world is a homely face,

The ant is busy with its house,

Some reckon time by stars,

I.

It's up and out with the bat and owl!

I.

Little leaves, that lean your ears

I

(After the German of Goethe, Faust, II)

First Came the rain, loud, with sonorous lips;

Ah, shall I follow, on the hills,

The sun set late; and left along the west

The sun sinks scarlet as a barberry.

Against the pane the darkness, wet and cold,

Success allures us in the earth and skies:

I.

The slender snail clings to the leaf,

The spring is coming! hear it blow!

Deep with divine tautology,

Deep with divine tautology,

Low clouds, the lightning veins and cleaves,

The moth and beetle wing about

The moth and beetle wing about

Blood-Coloured oaks, that stand against a sky of gold and brass;

I.

In the waste places, in the dreadful night,

Under the boughs of spring

The little tents the wildflowers raise

Take heart again. Joy may be lost awhile.

The trees took on fantastic shapes

(Battleship, launched March 24, 1898.)

The clouds that tower in storm, that beat

The clouds that tower in storm, that beat

When to that house I came which, long ago,

Here is a tale for maidens and for mothers:

Here is a tale for artists and for writers:

Night and the sea, and heaven overhead

God made that night of pearl and ivory,

Here is a tale for poets and for players:

Booted and spurred he rode toward the west,

Black clouds hung low and heavy,

Here is a tale for sportsmen when at table:

With soul self-blind

Had a birthday yesterday.

I had not found the road too short,

I had not found the road too short,

From morn till noon upon the window-pane

This is the path he used to take,

And he had mused on lands each bird,

Sodden and shivering, in mud and rain,

I.

Out in Oldham County once

Youth, with an arrogant air,

It seemed the listening forest held its breath

To it the forest tells

I.

I.

Here is a tale for any one who wishes:

April calling, April calling,

I.

I

I.

Once a charcoal wagon passed,

Deep in a valley, green with ancient beech,

The sunset was a sleepy gold,

I

I.

Christmas is just one week off,

The melancholy of the woods and plains

The wild-plum tree, whose leaves grow thin,

Shut it out of the heart this grief,

He found the road so long and lone

Come in, old Ghost of all that used to be!

Here is a tale for those who sing with reason:

I.

Here is a tale for all who wish to listen:

The Season speaks this year of life

The Nights of song and story,

Let us mix a cup of Joy

Summer, gowned in catnip-gray,

The west builds high a sepulcher

The West builds high a sepulchre

Between the darkness and the day

Her heart is still and leaps no more

Her heart is still and leaps no more

So Love is dead, the Love we knew of old!

So Love is dead, the Love we knew of old!

Woman's a star, a rose;

Devil's Race-Horse seems to me

The scent of dittany was hot.

This was my dream:

There is a place (I know it well)

The beauty of the day put joy,

Below, the tawny Tagus swept

Even as a child he loved to thrid the bowers,

Far as the eye can see, in domes and spires,

Through woods the Spanish moss makes gray,

I saw the spirit of the pines that spoke

I.

Pods are the poppies, and slim spires of pods

Pods the poppies, and slim spires of pods

The rose, that wrote its message on the noon's

There are moments when, as missions,

Woods of wonder, wonder ways,

Yes, I love the homestead. There

There is a hall in every house,

The joys that touched thee once, be mine!

The joys that touched thee once, be mine!

Imperial Madness, will of hand,

I.

Rocks, trees and rocks; and down a mossy stone

I.

Here is a tale for children and their grannies:

The cut-throat darkness hemmed me 'round:

Squaw-Berry, bramble, Solomon's-seal,

Deep in the hush of a mighty wood

Push back the brambles, berry-blue:

I

I.

The source of laughter lies so near to tears,

Not while I live may I forget

Not while I live may I forget

There's a house across the street

Here's the tale my father told,

There in the past I see her as of old,

How long had I sat there and had not beheld

Gold-haired she stood among the golden-rod,

I.

Here is a tale for spinsters at their sewing:

The grasshopper, that sang its sleepy song

What joy you take in making hotness hotter,

What joy you take in making hotness hotter,

What is that which walks by night

She stood among the longest ferns

I

There a tattered marigold

I.

Whiten, oh whiten, O clouds of lawn!

God made her body out of foam and flowers,

This is the heart's own day:

Not into these dark cities,

A grey, bald hillside, bristling here and there

There is no joy of earth that thrills

They are the wise who look before,

(Built by a Child in a deep Forest.)

Darkly October; Where the wild fowl fly,

I, who went at nightfall, came again at dawn;

The teasel and the horsemint spread

The teasel and the horsemint spread

I.

She took her babe, the child of shame and sin,

There is a smell of roses in the room

And these are Christians! God! the horror of it!

Upon the iron crags of War I heard his terrible daughters

They pass, with heavy eyes and hair,

Last night it was Hallowe'en.

Last night I lay awake and heard the wind,

Like some gaunt ghost the tempest wails

Whenever on the windowpane

I.

Do you know the way that goes

I

She sleeps; he sings to her. The day was long,

I

I.

This is the lesson I have learned of Beauty:

I.

There's something now that no one knows,

I.

I.

Thou pulse of hotness, who, with reedlike breast,

Thou pulse of hotness, who, with reedlike breast,

A river binds the lonely land,

He found the long room as it was of old,

The black night showed its hungry teeth,

Roses, brier on brier,

I Have not seen her face, and yet

In the woods, not long ago,

Since Man first lifted up his eyes to hers

What is the gold of mortal-kind

I

I.

The woods stretch deep to the mountain side,

The woods stretch wild to the mountain-side,

I.

The hat he wore was full of holes,

The water-flag and wild cane grow

What it would mean for you and me

Withered and gray as winter; gnarled and old,

I.

One night I lingered in the wood

From an ode "In Commemoration of the Founding of the Massachusetts Bay Colony."

From an ode "In Commemoration of the Founding of the Massachusetts Bay Colony."

I.

She sits among the iris stalks

I saw a name carved on a tree

I look about me, and behold

The Woolworth Building

Tattered, in ragged raiment of the rain,

I.

I.

Low, swallow-swept and gray,

Its rotting fence one scarcely sees

Its rotting fence one scarcely sees

The frogs still cry, "Knee-deep! knee-deep!"

Come, let's climb into our attic,

Dormered and verandaed, cool,

Dormered and verandaed, cool,

Spurge and sea-pink, hyssop blue,

I.

On the barren hillside lone he sat;

An old lane, an old gate, an old house by a tree;

They've torn the old house down, that stood,

Weeds and dead leaves, and leaves the Autumn stains

Red-Winding from the sleepy town,

An old, lost lane; where can it lead?

The old remain, the young are gone.

I

I.

Wild ridge on ridge the wooded hills arise,

Wild ridge on ridge the wooded hills arise,

Wild ridge on ridge the wooded hills arise,

You have shut me out from your tears and grief

Here is a tale for ladies with romances:

I

I.

I.

Here is a tale for farmer and for peasant:

With anxious eyes and dry, expectant lips,

With anxious eyes and dry, expectant lips,

She passed the thorn-trees, whose gaunt branches tossed

She passed the thorn-trees, whose gaunt branches tossed

Slow sinks the sun, a great carbuncle ball

There is a path that leads

I

I.

Here is a tale for uncles and old aunties:

Above her, pearl and rose the heavens lay:

Above her, pearl and rose the heavens lay:

I.

A lilac mist maizes warm the hills,

He stands above all worldly schism,

And I told the boy next door

Once I gave a "poppa-show":

In some quaint Nurnberg maler-atelier

In some quaint Nurnberg maler-atelier

Their only thought religion,

Far in the purple valleys of illusion

Far in the purple valleys of illusion

I

I.

A pond of filth a sewer flows into,

Rain and black night. Beneath the covered bridge

I

I

I.

From "Wild Thorn and Lily"

From "Wild Thorn and Lily"

A lonely barn, lost in a field of weeds;

I.

Those were the days of doubt. How clear

The Day brims high its ewer

Along the road I smelt the rose,

Come, walk with me and Memory;

Over the hills, as the pewee flies,

You have forgot: it once was red

The rose of Hope, how rich and red

When down the west the new moon slipped,

I

I.

Under an oak-tree in a woodland, where

Here is a tale for prelates and for parsons:

More than cakes or anything

When, one by one, the stars have trembled through

She was strange as the orchids that blossom

Ah me! I shall not waken soon

Ah me! I shall not waken soon

A shadow glided down the way

I

He waited till within her tower

He waited till within her tower

Upon the mossed rock by the spring

Upon the mossed rock by the spring

I Heard a Spirit singing as, beyond the morning winging, Its radiant form went swinging like a star:

An heritage of hopes and fears

"We have the receipt of fern seed: we walk invisible."

"We have the receipt of fern seed: we walk invisible."

Over the rocks she trails her locks,

Over the rocks she trails her locks,

These--the bright symbols of man's hope and fame,

These the bright symbols of man's hope and fame,

Squat-nosed and broad, of big and pompous port;

The night is sad with silver and the day is glad with gold,

They come as couriers of Heaven: their feet

Here is a tale to tell to rich relations:

She stood waist-deep among the briers:

Here is a tale for workmen and their masters:

Crab-Faced, crab-tongued, with deep-set eyes that glared,

I.

I.

I

Night, they say, is no man's friend:

In Provence, to his Lady, Azalis de Mercoeur in Anjou

Each form of beauty's but the new disguise

Wild son of Heav'n, with laughter and alarm,

All night I lay upon the rocks:

I.

A Saga of Yule.

The dogs made way for him and snarled and ran;

A cry went through the darkness; and the moon,

Between the death of day and birth of night,

A Sense of something that is sad and strange;

I

I.

That day we wandered 'mid the hills, - so lone

That day we wandered 'mid the hills, so lone

Deep in the hollow wood he found a way

When winds go organing through the pines

The wind that breathes of columbines

The wind that breathes of columbines

From the hills and far away

The Winter Wind, the wind of death,

The Winter Wind, the wind of death,

The wind that met her in the park,

Among the fields the camomile

Among the fields the camomile

Those hewers of the clouds, the Winds, - that lair

Those hewers of the clouds, the Winds, that lair

Those hewers of the clouds, the winds, that lair

With her fair face she made my heaven,

Why have you come? to see me in my shame?

The thorn-tree waved a bough of May

Like some wild child that laughs and weeps,

I Heard his step upon the moss;

Bird, with the voice of gold,

An evil, stealthy water, dark as hate,

There is a woodland witch who lies

Rock and root and fern and flower

I.

I.

I.

Who could describe you, child of mystery

I

I.

Elfins of the Autumn night,

I.

There are three things of Earth

(In memory of Madison Cawein?)

I.

I

I

I.

Sad-Hearted spirit of the solitudes,

Friend, for the sake of loves we hold in common,

You, who are four years old;

I.

I.

Thou pulse of hotness, who, with reed-like breast,

Would I could talk as the flowers talk

I.

There's a little girl I know

Topsy Turvy is her name;

In heavens of riveted blue, that sunset dyes

Hearts, that have cheered us ever, night and day,

I.

Oh, roses, roses everywhere but only one for me!

It is the time when, by the forest falls,

To me all beauty that I see

The gentian and the bluebell so

I.

Here is a tale for infants and old nurses:

We were a crew of what you please,

"Trees," so he said and laid him lovingly

I.

How long ago it is since we went Maying!

How long ago it is since we went Maying!

As one, who, journeying westward with the sun,

As one, who, journeying westward with the sun,

"'He cometh not,' she said."

"'He cometh not,' she said."

White from her chrysalis of cloud,

He told a story to her,

I.

All things are wrought of melody,

Was it a dream,

Passion? not hers! who held me with pure eyes:

Passion? not hers, within whose virgin eyes

Passion? not hers! who held me with pure eyes:

A modern Poet addresses his Muse, to whom he has devoted the best Years of his Life

Unto what end, I ask, unto what end

I.

Though dead the flower,

They who take courage from their own defeat

Here is a tale for gossips and chaste people:

I.

I.

When blood-root blooms and trillium flowers

Where are they, that song and tale

Where are they, that song and tale

Briar and fennel and chinquapin,

I saw the daughters of the ocean dance

From "One Day and Another"

From "One Day and Another"

I.

She came through shade and shine,

I.

When Lydia smiles, I seem to see

I

When Spring comes down the wildwood way,

One blossoming rose-tree, like a beautiful thought

Let down the bars; drive in the cows:

Why should I pine? when there in Spain

Beyond the barley meads and hay,

In years to come, will you forget,

I.

The flute, whence Summer's dreamy fingertips

"These winter days," my father says,

Wild clouds roll up, slag-dark and slaty gray,

This world is made a witchcraft place

She walks the woods, when evening falls,

'Twas when the wind was blowing from the billow-breaking sea,

"It is a subject suited to the genius of the poet who wrote 'Bad Dreams,'" remarked the Professor as he abandoned himself wearily to the luxuriance of his armchair. What was there to be done? Absolutely nothing; and the fabric of the mystery accumula

Sweet lies! the sweetest ever heard,

I

I.

About the time when bluebells swing

Sylvan, they say, and nymph are gone;

I.

I cannot tell what I would tell thee,

What though the heart be tired,

I.

I.

I

The gate, on ice-hoarse hinges, stiff with frost,

The Alps of the Tyrol are dark with pines,