Madison Julius Cawein

(1865-1914 / the United States)

Madison Julius Cawein Poems

1. A Woodland Grave 9/21/2010
2. Abandoned 9/21/2010
3. After Long Grief 9/21/2010
4. After The Rain 9/21/2010
5. Amadis And Oriana 9/21/2010
6. Apocalypse 9/21/2010
7. Argonauts 9/21/2010
8. Assumption 9/21/2010
9. At Sunset 9/21/2010
10. At The End Of The Road 9/21/2010
11. Attainment 9/21/2010
12. Aubade 9/21/2010
13. Autumn Sorrow 9/21/2010
14. Ballad Of Low-Lie-Down 9/21/2010
15. Bare Boughs 9/21/2010
16. Beautiful-Bosomed, O Night 9/21/2010
17. Beauty And Art 9/21/2010
18. Before The Rain 9/21/2010
19. Chant Before Battle 9/21/2010
20. Child And Father 9/21/2010
21. Comradery 9/21/2010
22. Don Quixote 9/21/2010
23. Drouth 9/21/2010
24. Dusk 9/21/2010
25. Dusk In The Woods 9/21/2010
26. Eidolons 9/21/2010
27. Elusion 9/21/2010
28. Enchantment 9/21/2010
29. Evening On The Farm 9/21/2010
30. Field And Forest Call 9/21/2010
31. Flight 9/21/2010
32. Forest And Field 9/21/2010
33. Friends 9/21/2010
34. Garden Gossip 9/21/2010
35. Gargaphie 9/21/2010
36. Ghosts 9/21/2010
37. Haec Olim Meminisse 9/21/2010
38. Hymn To Spiritual Desire 9/21/2010
39. In A Garden 9/21/2010
40. In Arcady 9/21/2010
Best Poem of Madison Julius Cawein

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,
And wood-brook melody,
O hark, my heart, and hear, my heart,
The April Ecstasy!

Hark to the hills, the oldtime hills,
That talk with sea and sky!
Or speak in murmurs with God's winds
Who on their bosoms lie:
Bird-call and waterfall
And white clouds blowing by,
O hark, my heart, O hear, my heart,
The April's cosmic cry!

There runs a whisper through the woods,
The word of bough to bough,
A sound of dead ...

Read the full of The Call Of April

A Ghost Of Yesterday

THERE is a house beside a way,
Where dwells a ghost of Yesterday:
The old face of a beauty, faded,
Looks from its garden: and the shaded
Long walks of locust-trees, that seem
Forevermore to sigh and dream,
Keep whispering low a word that's true,
Of shapes that haunt its avenue,
Clad as in days of belle and beau,

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