Shadows.

1

Ha! help! - 'twas palpable!
A ghost that thronged
Up from the mind or hell
Of one I wronged!


2

'Tis past and - silence! - naught! -
A vision born
Of the scared mind o'erwrought
With dreams forlorn:


3

The bastard brood of Death
And Sleep that wakes
Grim fancies with its breath,
And reason shakes.


4

Would that the grave _could_ rot
Like flesh the soul,
Gnaw through with worms and not
Leave it thus whole,


5

More than it was in earth
Beyond the grave,
Much more in death than birth
To conscience slave!

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

The Last Scion Of The House Of Clare.

Madison Julius Cawein, Simple Poetry

Little Boy Sleepy

Madison Julius Cawein, Simple Poetry

Dolce Far Niente

Madison Julius Cawein, Simple Poetry

Argonauts

Madison Julius Cawein, Simple Poetry

English

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The Shadow

A shadow glided down the way
Where sunset groped among the trees,
And all the woodland bower, asway
With trouble of the evening breeze.

A shape, it moved with head held down;
I knew it not, yet seemed to know
Its form, its carriage of a clown,
Its raiment of the long-ago.

It never turned or spoke a word,
But fixed its gaze on something far,
As if within its heart it heard
The summons of the evening star.

I turned to it and tried to speak;
To ask it of the thing it saw,
Or heard, beyond Earth's outmost peak
The dream, the splendor, and the awe.

What beauty or what terror there
Still bade its purpose to ascend
Above the sunset's sombre glare,
The twilight and the long day's end.

It looked at me but said no word:<...

Madison Julius Cawein

The Haunted House

I.

The shadows sit and stand about its door
Like uninvited guests and poor;
And all the long, hot summer day
The grating locust dins its roundelay
In one old sycamore.
The squirrel leaves upon its rotting roof,
In empty hulls, its tracks;
And in its clapboard cracks
The spider weaves a windy woof;
Its cells the mud-wasp packs.
The she-fox whelps upon its floor;
The owlet roosts above its door;
And where the musty mosses run,
The freckled snake basks in the sun.

II.

The children of what fathers sleep
Beneath these melancholy pines?
The slow slugs crawl among their graves where creep
The doddered poison-vines.
The orchard, near the meadow deep,
Lifts up decrepit arms,
Gray-lichened in a withering heap.
No sap ...

Madison Julius Cawein

Where And What?

    Her ivied towers tall
    Old forests belt and bar,
And oh! the West's dim mountain crests
    That line the blue afar.

    Her gardens face dark cliffs,
    That seeth against a sea
As blue and deep as the eyes of Sleep
    With saddening mystery.

    Red sands roll leagues on leagues
    Ribbed of the wind and wave;
The near warm sky bends from on high
    The pale brow of a slave.

    And when the morning's beams
    Lie crushed on crag and bay,
A wail of flutes and soft-strung lutes
    O'er the lone land swoons away.

    The woods are 'roused from rest,
    A scent of earth and brine,
By brake and lake the wild things wake,
    And torrents leap and shine.

    But she in one gray tower
    White-f...

Madison Julius Cawein

The Shadow

I

Mother, mother, what is that gazing through the darkness?
What is that that looks at me with its awful eyes?
Tell me, mother, what it is, freezing me to starkness?
Through the house it seems to go with its icy sighs,
What is that, oh, what is that, mother, in the darkness?

II

Child, my child! my little child! 'tis a waving willow,
That the night wind bows and sways near the window-pane:
Here's my breast, my little son. Let it be your pillow.
Have no fear, love, in my arms. Go to sleep again.
Go to sleep and turn your face from the windy willow.

III

Mother, mother, what is that? going round and round there?
Round the house and at the door stops and turns the knob.
Hold me close, O mother love! keep me from that sound there!
Hear ...

Madison Julius Cawein

Death In Life.

    Within my veins it beats
    And burns within my brain;
For when the year is sad and sear
    I dream the dream again.

    Ah! over young am I
    God knows! yet in this sleep
More pain and woe than women know
    I know, and doubly deep!...

    Seven towers of shaggy rock
    Rise red to ragged skies,
Built in a marsh that, black and harsh,
    To dead horizons lies.

    Eternal sunset pours,
    Around its warlock towers,
A glowing urn where garnets burn
    With fire-dripping flowers.

    O'er bat-like turrets high,
    Stretched in a scarlet line,
The crimson cranes through rosy rains
    Drop like a ruby wine.

    Once in the banquet-hall
    These scarlet storks are heard:
I sit at board wit...

Madison Julius Cawein

The Haunted Room.

Its casements' diamond disks of glass
Stare myriad on a terrace old,
Where urns, unkempt with ragged grass,
Foam o'er with frothy cold.
The snow rounds o'er each stair of stone;
The frozen fount is hooped with pearl;
Down desolate walks, like phantoms lone,
Thin, powd'ry snow-wreaths whirl.

And to each rose-tree's stem that bends
With silver snow-combs, glued with frost,
It seems each summer rosebud sends
Its airy, scentless ghost.
The stiff Elizabethan pile
Chatters with cold thro' all its panes,
And rumbling down each chimney file
The mad wind shakes his reins.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

Lone in the Northern angle, dim
With immemorial dust, it lay,
Where each gaunt casement's stony rim
Stared lidless to the day.

Madison Julius Cawein