The Poems of Madison Cawein, Volume 5 (of 5) Poems of meditation and of forest and field

Amber and emerald, cairngorm and chrysoprase, Stream through the autumn woods, scatter the beech-wood ways: Ways where the wahoo-bush brightens with scarlet; And where the aster...

And the east grew gold with burning bars, And the sun in his chariot came; And this princess proud saw her lord of stars Snuffed out like a taper’s flame: And higher the lord of...

Not into these dark cities, These sordid marts and streets, That the sun in his rising pities, And the moon with sorrow greets, Does she, with her dreams and flowers, For whom o...

Now in the hollow of a hill,-- Like a glow-worm held in a giant hand,-- Under the sunset’s last red band, And one star hued like a daffodil, The windowed lamp of a cabin glows;...

The winds of spring, that whisper to the grass; The rain, that sets the red roots harping; sound, And gleam and color of the dews that glass Globes of concentric beauty on the g...

Its battlements of beauty were a pharos from afar, To lure the wandering seamen like a constellated star:-- Life may question: death is silent: will it answer where they are?

The old gate clicks, and down the walk, Between clove-pink and hollyhock, Still young of face though gray of lock, Among her garden’s flowers she goes, At evening’s close, Deep...

No star, no rose, to lesson him and lead, No woodsman compass of the skies and rocks,-- Tattooed with stars and lichens,--doth love need To guide him where, among the hollyhocks...

And, lo! a voice before me Kept calling constantly The hopes my heart accepted, My mind refused to see-- Of one I loved and loved not, Whose spirit spake to me.

Within the world awake behold A world asleep ... the wildwood shades! With limbs of glimmering coolness lolled Along the purple forest glades:-- Sleep in each unremembering face...

Pure thought-creations of the mind, Within the circle of the soul,-- The emanations that control Life to its God-predestined goal,-- Are spirit shapes no flesh can bind: Within...

How shall I greet him--him who seems To me the greatest of our singers? As one who hears Sierra streams, And, gazing under arching fingers, Feels all the eagle feels that scream...

“Already spicewood and the sassafras, Like fragrant flames, begin To tuft their boughs with topaz, ere they spin Their beryl canopies--a glimmering mass, Mist-blurred, above the...

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There is no inspiration in the view. From where this acorn drops its thimbles brown The landscape stretches like a shaggy frown; The wrinkled hills hang haggard and harsh of hue...