The poems of Madison Cawein | ||
325
MUSINGS
I
Inspiration
All who have toiled for Art, who've won or lost,Sat equal priests at her high Pentecost;
Only the chrism and sacrament of flame,
Anointing all, inspired not all the same.
II
Apportionment
How often in our search for joy belowHoping for happiness we chance on woe.
III
Victory
They who take courage from their own defeatAre victors too, no matter how much beat.
326
IV
Preparation
How often hope's fair flower blooms richest whereThe soul was fertilized with black despair.
V
Disillusion
Those unrequited in their love who dieHave never drained life's chief illusion dry.
VI
Success
Success allures us in the earth and skies:We seek to win her, but, too amorous,
Mocking, she flees us.—Haply, were we wise,
We should not strive and she would come to us.
VII
Science
Miranda-like, above the world she wavesThe wand of Prospero; and, beautiful,
327
Lightning and Steam,—are her unwilling slaves.
VIII
The Universal Wind
Wild son of Heav'n, with laughter and alarm,Now east, now west, now north, now south he goes,
Bearing in one harsh hand dark death and storm,
And in the other, sunshine and a rose.
IX
Compensation
Yea, whom He loves the Lord God chastenethWith disappointments, so that this side death,
Through suffering and failure, they know Hell
To make them worthy in that Heaven to dwell
Of Love's attainment, where they come to be
Parts of its beauty and divinity.
X
Poppies
Summer met Sleep at sunset,Dreaming within the south,—
328
Red with her heart's hot drouth,
These are the drowsy kisses
She pressed upon his mouth.
XI
Her Eyes and Mouth
There is no Paradise like that which liesDeep in the heavens of her azure eyes:
There is no Eden here on Earth that glows
Like that which smiles rich in her mouth's red rose.
XII
Her Soul
To me not only does her soul suggestPalms and the peace of tropic shore and wood,
But, oceaned far beyond the golden West,
The Fortunate Islands of true Womanhood.
XIII
Her Face
The gladness of our Southern spring; the graceOf summer; and the dreaminess of fall
Are parts of her sweet nature.—Such a face
Was Ruth's, methinks, divinely spiritual.
The poems of Madison Cawein | ||