The Story of a Poet: Madison Cawein: His Intimate Life as Revealed by His Letters and Other Hitherto Unpublished Material, Including Reminiscences by His Closest Associates; Also Articles from Newspapers and Magazines and a List of His Poems

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J. P. Morton, 1921 - Poets, American - 545 pages
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Page 401 - Seen mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose; Into her dream he melted, as the rose Blendeth its odour with the violet, — Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blows Like Love's alarum pattering the sharp sleet Against the window-panes; St. Agnes
Page 174 - And this is in the night. — Most glorious night ! Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be A sharer in thy fierce and far delight — A portion of the tempest and of thee!
Page 129 - There is no rhyme that is half so sweet As the song of the wind in the rippling wheat; There is no metre that's half so fine As the lilt of the brook under rock and vine; And the loveliest lyric I ever heard Was the wildwood strain of a forest bird.
Page 155 - Drouth weights the trees, and from the farmhouse eaves The locust, pulse-beat of the summer day, Throbs ; and the lane, that shambles under leaves Limp with the heat — a league of rutty way — Is lost in dust ; and sultry scents of hay Breathe from the panting meadows heaped with sheaves — Now, now...
Page 177 - Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls, Come hither, the dances are done, In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls, Queen lily and rose in one; Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls, To the flowers, and be their sun.
Page 400 - The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out: At one stride comes the dark; With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea, Off shot the spectre-bark.
Page 142 - ... sometimes they glide in classic aloofness through Mr. Cawein's poems, more frequently they have the exquisite substantiality of engaging actualities, born of a poet's affinity with the ineffable beauty of nature which to its votaries is a presence almost palpable and visible. Mr. Gosse said of him: "He brings the ancient gods to Kentucky, and it is marvelous how quickly they learn to be at home there.
Page 355 - And set the laughing days to rhyme ? — No catbird scatters through the hush The sparkling crystals of its song; Within the woods no hermit-thrush Trails an enchanted flute along, A sweet assertion of the hush. All day the crows fly cawing past; The acorns drop ; the forests scowl : At night I hear the bitter blast Hoot...
Page 367 - Their old rock-fences, that our day inherits; Their doors, 'round which the great trees stand like wardens, Their paths, down which the shadows march like spirits; Broad doors and paths that reach bird-haunted gardens. I see them gray among their ancient acres, Severe of front, their gables lichen-sprinkled — Like gentle-hearted, solitary Quakers, Grave and religious, with kind faces wrinkled — Serene among their memory-hallowed acres.
Page 369 - The garden there — where the soft sky clears Like an old sweet face that has dried its tears. One of the most impressive and sustained instances of this tropemaking occurs in "A Voice on the Wind" — a poem palpitant with both human emotion and feeling for Nature's pathetic aspects: Who is she who wanders alone, When the wind drives sheer and the rain is blown? Who walks all night and makes her moan: "O my children, come home!

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