 | 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
 | 5. |
|
|
|
|
 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
171
AFTER LONG GRIEF AND PAIN
There is a place hung o'er of summer boughsAnd dreamy skies wherein the gray hawk sleeps;
Where waters flow, within whose lazy deeps,
Like silvery prisms where the sunbeams drowse,
The minnows twinkle; where the bells of cows
Tinkle the stillness; and the bob-white keeps
Calling from meadows where the reaper reaps,
And children's laughter haunts an old-time house:
A place where life wears ever an honest smell
Of hay and honey, sun and elder-bloom—
Like some sweet, modest girl—within her hair;
Where, with our love for comrade, we may dwell
Far from the city's strife, whose cares consume—
Oh, take my hand and let me lead you there.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |