| 1. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 2. |
| 1. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
| 18. |
| 2. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
| 3. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 4. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 5. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
| 18. |
| 19. |
| 20. |
| 21. |
| 22. |
| 23. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 3. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
PEARLS |
| 4. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 5. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
| 18. |
| 19. |
| 20. |
| 21. |
| 22. |
| 23. |
| 24. |
| 25. |
| 26. |
| 27. |
| 28. |
| 29. |
| 30. |
| 31. |
| 32. |
| 33. |
| 34. |
| 35. |
| 36. |
| 37. |
| 38. |
| 39. |
| 40. |
| 41. |
| 42. |
| 43. |
| 44. |
| 45. |
| 46. |
| 47. |
| 48. |
| 49. |
| 50. |
| 51. |
| 52. |
| 53. |
| 54. |
| 55. |
| 56. |
| 57. |
| 58. |
| 59. |
| 60. |
| 61. |
| 62. |
| 63. |
| 64. |
| 65. |
| 66. |
| 67. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| The poems of Madison Cawein | ||
466
PEARLS
Baroque, but beautiful, between the lunes,The valves of nacre of a mussel-shell,
Behold, a pearl! shaped like the burnished bell
Of some strange blossom that long afternoons
Of summer coax to open: all the moon's
Chaste lustre in it; hues that only dwell
With purity. . . . It takes me, like a spell,
Back to a day when, whistling truant tunes,
A barefoot boy I waded 'mid the rocks,
Searching for shells strewn in the creek's slow swirl,
Unconscious of the pearls that round me lay:
While, 'mid wild-roses,—all her tomboy locks
Blond-blowing,—stood, unnoticed then, a girl,
My sweetheart once, the pearl I flung away.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | ||