1. |
THE SOUND OF THE SAP |
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. |
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 | ||
36
THE SOUND OF THE SAP
When the ice was thick on the flower-beds,
And the sleet was caked on the briar;
When the frost was down in the brown bulb's heads,
And the ways were clogged with mire:
And the sleet was caked on the briar;
When the frost was down in the brown bulb's heads,
And the ways were clogged with mire:
When the snow on syringa and spiræa-tree
Seemed the ghosts of perished flowers;
And the days were sorry as sorry could be,
And Time limped, cursing his fardel of hours:
Seemed the ghosts of perished flowers;
And the days were sorry as sorry could be,
And Time limped, cursing his fardel of hours:
Heigh-ho! had I not a book and the logs,
That chirped with the sap in the burning?—
Or was it the frogs in the far-off bogs?
Or the bush-sparrow's song at the turning?
That chirped with the sap in the burning?—
Or was it the frogs in the far-off bogs?
Or the bush-sparrow's song at the turning?
And I strolled by ways that the Springtime knows,
In her mossy dells, and her ferny passes;
Where the earth was holy with lily and rose,
And the myriad life of the grasses.
In her mossy dells, and her ferny passes;
Where the earth was holy with lily and rose,
And the myriad life of the grasses.
37
And I spoke with the Spring as a lover, who speaks
To his sweetheart; to whom he has given
A kiss that has kindled the rose of her cheeks,
And her eyes with the laughter of heaven.
To his sweetheart; to whom he has given
A kiss that has kindled the rose of her cheeks,
And her eyes with the laughter of heaven.
The sound of the sap!—What a simple thing!—
But the sound of the sap had the power
To make the song-sparrow come and sing,
And the winter woodlands flower!
But the sound of the sap had the power
To make the song-sparrow come and sing,
And the winter woodlands flower!
The poems of Madison Cawein | ||