Song Of The Spirits Of Spring.

        I.

        Wafted o'er purple seas,
        From gold Hesperides,
        Mixed with the southern breeze,
        Hail to us spirits!
        Dripping with fragrant rains,
        Fire of our ardent veins,
        Life of the barren plains,
Woodlands and germs that the woodland inherits.


        II.

        Wan as the creamy mist,
        Tinged with pale amethyst,
        Warm with the sun that kissed
        Vine-tangled mountains
        Looming o'er tropic lakes,
        Where ev'ry air that shakes
        Tamarisk coverts makes
Music that haunts like the falling of fountains.


        III.

        Swift are our flashing feet,
        Fleet with the winds that meet,
        Winds that, blown, billow sweet,
        And with light porous,
        Boom with the drunken bees,
        Sigh with the surge of seas,
        Rush with the rush of trees,
Birds and wild wings and of torrents sonorous.


        IV.

        Stars in our liquid eyes,
        Stars of the darkest skies,
        And on our fingers lies
        Starlight; and shadows,
        Unmooned, of nights that creep
        Hide in our tresses deep,
        And in our limbs white sleep
Dreams like a baby in asphodel meadows.


        V.

        Music of many streams,
        Strength of a million beams,
        Fire and sainted dreams,
        Murmuring lowly,
        Pulse on hot lips of light,
        Which, what they kiss of blight,
        Quicken and blossom white,
Raise to be beautiful, perfect, and holy.


        VI.

        Oh, will you sit and wait,
        When fields, erst desolate,
        Now are intoxicate
        With life that flowers?
        Purple with love and rife
        With their fierce budded life,
        Passion and rosy strife
Drained from warm winds and the turbulent showers?


        VII.

        Nay! at our feet you'll lie:
        For the winds lullaby,
        For our completest sky,
        And largess flying
        Of pinky pearls of blooms,
        For the one bee that booms,
        And the warm-spilled perfumes
Forget for a moment already we're dying!

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

Argonauts

Madison Julius Cawein, Simple Poetry

A Pool Among The Rocks

Madison Julius Cawein, Simple Poetry

In The Shadow Of The Beeches.

Madison Julius Cawein, Simple Poetry

The Wind Of Spring

Madison Julius Cawein, Simple Poetry

English

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The Vale Of Tempe - The Hylas

I.

I Heard the hylas in the bottomlands
Piping a reed-note in the praise of Spring:
The South-wind brought the music on its wing,
As 't were a hundred strands
Of guttural gold smitten of elfin hands;
Or of sonorous silver, struck by bands,
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Of laboring gnomes shaping some gem of worth.

Sounds that seemed to bid
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And starrily shake
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Beneath the loam,
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Frail as the fluttering foam,
In countless myriads rise.
And in my city home
I, too, who heard
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II.

And under glimpses of the cloud-white sky
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Chords.

Then up the orient heights to the zenith that balanced a crescent, -
Up and far up and over, - a warm erubescence liquescent
Rioted roses and rubies; eruptions of opaline gems,
Flung and wide sown, blushed crushed, and crumbled from diadems
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Wood-Words

I.

The spirits of the forest,
That to the winds give voice -
I lie the livelong April day
And wonder what it is they say
That makes the leaves rejoice.

The spirits of the forest,
That breathe in bud and bloom -
I walk within the black-haw brake
And wonder how it is they make
The bubbles of perfume.

The spirits of the forest,
That live in every spring -
I lean above the brook's bright blue
And wonder what it is they do
That makes the water sing.

The spirits of the forest.
That haunt the sun's green glow -
Down fungus ways of fern I steal
And wonder what they can conceal,
In dews, that twinkles so.

The spirits of the forest,
They hold me, heart and hand -
And, oh! the bird they send by light,
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After Rain

Behold the blossom-bosomed Day again,
With all the star-white Hours in her train,
Laughs out of pearl-lights through a golden ray,
That, leaning on the woodland wildness, blends
A sprinkled amber with the showers that lay
Their oblong emeralds on the leafy ends.
Behold her bend with maiden-braided brows
Above the wildflower, sidewise with its strain
Of dewy happiness, to kiss again
Each drop to death; or, under rainy boughs,
With fingers, fragrant as the woodland rain,
Gather the sparkles from the sycamore,
To set within each core
Of crimson roses girdling her hips,
Where each bud dreams and drips.
Smoothing her blue-black hair, where many a tusk
Of iris flashes, like the falchions' sheen
Of Faery 'round blue banners of its Queen,
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Madison Julius Cawein

Beautiful-Bosomed, O Night

I.

Beautiful-bosomed, O Night, in thy noon
Move with majesty onward! soaring, as lightly
As a singer may soar the notes of an exquisite tune,
The stars and the moon
Through the clerestories high of the heaven, the firmament's halls:
Under whose sapphirine walls,
June, hesperian June,
Robed in divinity wanders. Daily and nightly
The turquoise touch of her robe, that the violets star,
The silvery fall of her feet, that lilies are,
Fill the land with languorous light and perfume.
Is it the melody mute of burgeoning leaf and of bloom?
The music of Nature, that silently shapes in the gloom
Immaterial hosts
Of spirits that have the flowers and leaves in their keep,
Whom I hear, whom I hear?
With their sighs of silver and pearl?
Invisible ghosts,

Madison Julius Cawein

Beautiful-Bosomed, O Night

I

Beautiful-bosomed, O Night, in thy noon
Move with majesty onward! soaring, as lightly
As a singer may soar the notes of an exquisite tune,
The stars and the moon
Through the clerestories high of the heaven, the firmament's halls:
Under whose sapphirine walls,
June, hesperian June,
Robed in divinity wanders.    Daily and nightly
The turquoise touch of her robe, that the violets star,
The silvery fall of her feet, that lilies are,
Fill the land with languorous light and perfume. -
Is it the melody mute of burgeoning leaf and of bloom?
The music of Nature, that silently shapes in the gloom
Immaterial hosts
Of spirits that have the flowers and leaves in their keep,
Whom I hear, whom I hear?
With their sighs of silver and pearl?
Invisible ghosts, ...

Madison Julius Cawein