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THE WILLOW BOTTOM |
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 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
207
THE WILLOW BOTTOM
Lush green the grass that grows between
The willows of the bottom-land;
Edged by the careless water, tall and green
The brown-topped cat-tails stand.
The willows of the bottom-land;
Edged by the careless water, tall and green
The brown-topped cat-tails stand.
The cows come gently here to browse,
Slow through the great-leafed sycamores:
You hear a dog bark from a low-roofed house
With cedars round its doors.
Slow through the great-leafed sycamores:
You hear a dog bark from a low-roofed house
With cedars round its doors.
Then all is quiet as the wings
Of the one buzzard floating there:
Anon a woman's high-pitched voice that sings
An old camp-meeting air.
Of the one buzzard floating there:
Anon a woman's high-pitched voice that sings
An old camp-meeting air.
A cock that flaps and crows; and then—
Heard drowsy through the rustling corn—
A flutter, and the crackling of a hen
Within a hay-sweet barn.
Heard drowsy through the rustling corn—
A flutter, and the crackling of a hen
Within a hay-sweet barn.
208
How still again! no water stirs:
No wind is heard: although the weeds
Are waved a little: and from silk-filled burrs
Drift by a few soft seeds.
No wind is heard: although the weeds
Are waved a little: and from silk-filled burrs
Drift by a few soft seeds.
So drugged with dreams the place, that you
Expect to see her gliding by,—
Hummed round of bees, through blossoms spilling dew,—
The Spirit of July.
Expect to see her gliding by,—
Hummed round of bees, through blossoms spilling dew,—
The Spirit of July.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |