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 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
351
AT TWENTY-ONE
The rosy hills of her high breasts,Whereon, like misty morning, rests
The breathing lace; her auburn hair,
Wherein, a star-point sparkling there,
One jewel burns: her eyes, that keep
Recorded dreams of love and sleep:
Her mouth, with whose comparison
The richest rose were poor and wan:
Her throat, her form—what masterpiece
Of man can picture half of these!—
She comes! a classic from the hand
Of God! wherethrough I understand
What Nature means and Art and Love,
And all the immortal myths thereof.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |