A Valentine.

My life is grown a witchcraft place
Through gazing on thy form and face.

Now 't is thy Smile's soft sorcery
That makes my soul a melody.

Now 't is thy Frown, that comes and goes,
That makes my heart a page of prose.

Some day, perhaps, a word of thine
Will change me to thy VALENTINE.

Madison Julius Cawein

Madison Julius Cawein was born on March 23, 1865, in Louisville, Kentucky and died on December 8, 1914. Known as the “Keats of Kentucky,” his poetry often focused on nature, mythology, and the lush landscapes of his home state. Throughout his lifetime, Cawein published more than 30 books of poetry. He is remembered for his vivid and descriptive style and his ability to capture the beauty of the natural world. His works provide a window into the pastoral and often mystical world of the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

Madison Julius Cawein

Dusk

Madison Julius Cawein, Simple Poetry

Elfin

Madison Julius Cawein, Simple Poetry

Nothing To Do

Madison Julius Cawein, Simple Poetry

The Sea-King.

Madison Julius Cawein, Simple Poetry

English

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Witchcraft

This world is made a witchcraft place
With gazing on a woman's face.
Now 'tis her smile, whose sorcery
Turns all my thoughts to melody.
Now 'tis her frown, that comes and goes,
That makes my day a page of prose.
And now her laugh, or but a word,
That in my heart frees wild a bird.
Some day, perhaps, a kiss of hers,
Will lift from my dumb life the curse
Of longing, inarticulate,
That keeps me sad and celibate.

Madison Julius Cawein

My Valentine.

I.

I passed her on the crowded street--
This winsome maid, demure and sweet--
And envious saw the silken tresses
That seemed to give her cheeks caresses,
And rapture felt that thrilled me through
When on me glanced those eyes of blue
From underneath the drooping lashes
That could not hide their azure flashes!
And oh, I dreampt of bliss divine
If she would be--my Valentine!


II.

And visions of as fair a face
As painter's pencil e'er did trace
Would haunt the mind each waking hour,
And slumber owned its magic power--
Until I found by merest chance
That belladonna made the glance,
And borrowed hair had lent its aid
For silken tresses of this maid--
And padding--paint--did all combine
To make for me--my Valentine!

George W. Doneghy

My Valentine.

    O Dorothy, sweet Dorothy,
        You make my heart rejoice;
    Your presence is like Arcady,
        There's music in your voice;
    Heaven's purity is on your brow,
        Its light is in your eyne;
    I love you, and I ask you now
        To be my Valentine.

    Your face is like the lily in
        The morning's ruddy light;
    Your dimpled cheeks and tiny chin
        Are blessings to my sight;
    Your lips are fairer than the rose
        And redder far than wine;
    Your teeth are whiter than the snows:
        You'll be my Valentine!

    You are not quite so old as I,
        You've seen but summers three;
    And that's no doubt the reason why
        You are not coy with me.
    I'll come to you to-morrow,

W. M. MacKeracher

Falerina.

The night is hung above us, love,
With heavy stars that love us, love,
With clouds that curl in purple and pearl,
And winds that whisper of us, love:
On burly hills and valleys, that lie dimmer,
The amber foot-falls of the moon-sylphs glimmer.

The moon is still a crescent, love;
And here with thee 'tis pleasant, love,
To sit and dream in its thin gleam,
And list thy sighs liquescent, love:
To see thy eyes and fondle thy dark tresses,
Set on warm lips imperishable kisses.

The sudden-glaring fire-flies
Swim o'er the hollow gyre-wise,
And spurt and shine like jostled wine
At lips on which desire lies:
Or like the out-flashed hair of elf or fairy
In rapid morrice whirling feat and airy.

Up, - all the blue West sundering, -
A creamy...

Madison Julius Cawein

Senorita.

An agate black thy roguish eyes
Claim no proud lineage of skies,
No velvet blue, but of sweet Earth,
Rude, reckless witchery and mirth.

Looped in thy raven hair's repose,
A hot aroma, one tame rose
Dies envious of that beauty where, -
By being near which, - it is fair.

Thy ears, - two dainty bits of song
Of unpretending charm, which wrong
Would jewels rich, whose restless fire
Courts coarse attention, - such inspire.

Slim hands, that crumple listless lace
About thy white breasts' swelling grace,
And falter at thy samite throat,
To such harmonious efforts float.

Seven stars stop o'er thy balcony
Cored in taunt heaven's canopy;
No moon flows up the satin night
In pearl-pierced raiment spun of light.

From orange o...

Madison Julius Cawein

Longing.

    When rathe wind-flowers many peer
        All rain filled at blue April skies,
    As on one smiles one's lady dear
        With the big tear-drops in her eyes;

    When budded May-apples, I wis,
        Be hidden by lone greenwood creeks,
    Be bashful as her cheeks we kiss,
        Be waxen as her dimpled cheeks;

    Then do I pine for happier skies,
        Shy wild-flowers fair by hill and burn;
    As one for one's sweet lady's eyes,
        And her white cheeks might pine and yearn.

Madison Julius Cawein