 | New poems by Madison Cawein |  |
TREASURE
Here is a tale for infants and old nurses:There was a man who gathered rags; and peddled:
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And this old man was very fond of verses.
His house, a ruin, so the tale rehearses;
A hovel over-run of rats and vermin;
Not fit for beast to live in. (Like a sermon
Embodying misery and hell and curses.)
There, one grey dawn of rain and windy weather,
They found him dead; starved; o'er a written paper;
Beside a dim and half-expiring taper:
It was a play, the poor fool'd put together,
Of gnomes and fairies, for his own sad pleasure:
And folks destroyed it, saying,—“We seek for treasure.”
| New poems by Madison Cawein | |