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Blooms of the Berry   By: (1865-1914)

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BLOOMS OF THE BERRY.

BY

MADISON J. CAWEIN.

"I fain would tune my fancy to your key." Sir John Suckling.

LOUISVILLE: JOHN P. MORTON AND COMPANY, PRINTERS. 1887

COPYRIGHTED By MADISON J. CAWEIN. 1887

PROEM.

Wine warm winds that sigh and sing, Led me, wrapped in many moods, Thro' the green sonorous woods Of belated Spring;

Till I came where, glad with heat, Waste and wild the fields were strewn, Olden as the olden moon, At my weary feet;

Wild and white with starry bloom, One far milky way that dashed, When some mad wind o'er it flashed, Into billowy foam.

I, bewildered, gazed around, As one on whose heavy dreams Comes a sudden burst of beams, Like a mighty sound.

If the grander flowers I sought, But these berry blooms to you, Evanescent as their dew, Only these I brought.

JULY 3, 1887.

I. BY WOLD AND WOOD.

THE HOLLOW.

I.

Fleet swallows soared and darted 'Neath empty vaults of blue; Thick leaves close clung or parted To let the sunlight through; Each wild rose, honey hearted, Bowed full of living dew.

II.

Down deep, fair fields of Heaven, Beat wafts of air and balm, From southmost islands driven And continents of calm; Bland winds by which were given Hid hints of rustling palm.

III.

High birds soared high to hover; Thick leaves close clung to slip; Wild rose and snowy clover Were warm for winds to dip, And one ungentle lover, A bee with robber lip.

IV.

Dart on, O buoyant swallow! Kiss leaves and willing rose! Whose musk the sly winds follow, And bee that booming goes; But in this quiet hollow I'll walk, which no one knows.

V.

None save the moon that shineth At night through rifted trees; The lonely flower that twineth Frail blooms that no one sees; The whippoorwill that pineth; The sad, sweet swaying breeze;

VI.

The lone white stars that glitter; The stream's complaining wave; Gray bats that dodge and flitter; Black crickets hid that rave; And me whose life is bitter, And one white head stone grave.

BY WOLD AND WOOD.

I.

Green, watery jets of light let through The rippling foliage drenched with dew; Bland glow worm glamours warm and dim Above the mystic vistas swim, Where, 'round the fountain's oozy urn, The limp, loose fronds of limber fern Wave dusky tresses thin and wet, Blue filleted with violet. O'er roots that writhe in snaky knots The moss in amber cushions clots; From wattled walls of brier and brush The elder's misty attars gush; And, Argus eyed, by knoll and bank The affluent wild rose flowers rank; And stol'n in shadowy retreats, In black, rich soil, your vision greets The colder undergrowths of woods, Damp, lushy leaved, whose gloomier moods Turn all the life beneath to death And rottenness for their own breath. May apples waxen stemmed and large With their bloom screening breadths of targe; Wake robins dark green leaved, their stems Tipped with green, oval clumps of gems, As if some woodland Bacchus there A braiding of his yellow hair With ivy tod had idly tost His thyrsus there, and so had lost. Low blood root with its pallid bloom, The red life of its mother's womb Through all its ardent pulses fine Beating in scarlet veins of wine. And where the knotty eyes of trees Stare wide, like Fauns' at Dryades That lave smooth limbs in founts of spar, Shines many a wild flower's tender star... Continue reading book >>




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