The Poems of Madison Cawein, Volume 3 (of 5) / Nature poems

THE POEMS OF MADISON CAWEIN VOLUME III NATURE POEMS

Illustrated WITH PHOTOGRAVURES AFTER PAINTINGS BY ERIC PAPE INDIANAPOLIS THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY PUBLISHERS
Copyright 1887, 1888, 1889, 1890, 1892, 1893, 1896, 1898, 1899, 1901, 1902 and 1907, by Madison Cawein Copyright 1896, by Copeland and Day; 1898, by R. H. Russell PRESS OF BRAUNWORTH & CO. BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS BROOKLYN, N. Y. TO DOCTOR HENRY A. COTTELL WHOSE KIND WORDS OF FRIENDSHIP AND APPROVAL HAVE ENCOURAGED ME WHEN I MOST NEEDED ENCOURAGEMENT
There is a poetry that speaks Through common things: the grasshopper, That in the hot weeds creaks and creaks, Says all of summer to my ear: And in the cricket’s cry I hear The fireside speak, and feel the frost Work mysteries of silver near On country casements, while, deep lost In snow, the gatepost seems a sheeted ghost.
And other things give rare delight: The guttural harps the green-frogs tune, Those minstrels of the falling night, That hail the sickle of the moon From grassy pools that glass her lune: Or,—all of August in its loud Dry cry,—the locust’s call at noon, That emphasizes heat, no cloud Of lazy white makes less with its cool shroud.
The rain,—whose cloud dark-lids the moon, That great white eyeball of the night,— Makes music for me; to its tune I hear the flowers unfolding white, The mushroom growing, and the slight Green sound of grass that dances near; The melon ripening with delight; And in the orchard, soft and clear, The apple redly rounding out its sphere.
The grigs make music as of old, To which the fairies whirl and shine Within the moonlight’s prodigal gold, On woodways wild with many a vine: When all the wilderness with wine Of stars is drunk, I hear it say— “Is God restricted to confine His wonders only to the day, That yields the abstract tangible to clay?”
And to my ear the wind of Morn,— When on her rubric forehead far One star burns big,—lifts a vast horn Of wonder where all murmurs are: In which I hear the waters war, The torrent and the blue abyss, And pines,—that terrace bar on bar The mountain side,—like lovers kiss, And whisper words where all of grandeur is.