Madison Julius Cawein
Madison Cawein (23 March 1865 – 8 December 1914) was a poet from Louisville, Kentucky, whose poem "Waste Land" has been linked with T. S. Eliot's later The Waste Land.
Cawein's father made patent medicines from herbs. Cawein thus became acquainted with and developed a love for local nature as a child. He worked in a Cincinnati pool hall as an assistant cashier for six years, saving his pay so he could return home to write. His output was thirty-six books and 1,500 poems. He was known as the "Keats of Kentucky."
In 1912 Cawein was forced to sell his Old Louisville home, St James Court (a two-and-a-half story brick house built in 1901, which he had ... more »
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Madison Julius Cawein Poems
A Yellow Rose
The old gate clicks, and down the walk, Between clove-pink and hollyhock, Still young of face though gray of lock, Among her garden's flowers she goes At evening's close, Deep in her hair a yellow rose.
The Call Of April
April calling, April calling, April calling me! I hear the voice of April there In each old apple tree: Bee-boom and wild perfume,
The Road Home
Over the hills, as the pewee flies, Under the blue of the Southern skies; Over the hills, where the red-bird wings Like a scarlet blossom, or sits and sings:
A Voice On The Wind
I She walks with the wind on the windy height When the rocks are loud and the waves are white,
The Iron Age
And these are Christians! God! the horror of it! How long, O Lord! how long, O Lord! how long Wilt Thou endure this crime? and there, above it, Look down on Earth nor sweep away the wrong!
The Death Of Love
So Love is dead, the Love we knew of old! And in the sorrow of our hearts' hushed halls A lute lies broken and a flower falls;
Briar and fennel and chinquapin, And rue and ragweed everywhere; The field seemed sick as a soul with sin, Or dead of an old despair, Born of an ancient care.
The Wood Thrush
Bird, with the voice of gold, Dropping wild bar on bar, To which the flowers unfold, Star upon gleaming star, Here in the forest old:
On Chenoweth's Run
I Thought of the road through the glen, With its hawk's nest high in the pine; With its rock, where the fox had his den, 'Mid tangles of sumach and vine, Where she swore to be mine.
Far to the South a star, Bright-shining over all; And a sound of voices singing, 'Round a Babe in an ox's-stall.
Days And Days
The days that clothed white limbs with heat, And rocked the red rose on their breast, Have passed with amber-sandaled feet
THE old house leans upon a tree Like some old man upon a staff: The night wind in its ancient porch Sounds like a hollow laugh.
A Forest Child
There is a place I search for still, Sequestered as the world of dreams, A bushy hollow, and a hill
Low clouds, the lightning veins and cleaves, Torn from the forest of the storm, Sweep westward like enormous leaves O'er field and farm.
Comments about Madison Julius Cawein
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
A Yellow Rose
The old gate clicks, and down the walk,
Between clove-pink and hollyhock,
Still young of face though gray of lock,
Among her garden's flowers she goes
At evening's close,
Deep in her hair a yellow rose.
The old house shows one gable-peak
Above its trees; and sage and leek
Blend with the rose their scents: the creek,
Leaf-hidden, past the garden flows,
That on it snows
Pale petals of the yellow rose.
The crickets pipe in dewy damps;
And everywhere the fireflies' lamps
Flame like the lights of Faery camps;
While, overhead, the soft sky ...