Poems of Madison Cawein Vol. 4 — Beauty and Art

BEAUTY AND ART

The gods are dead; but still for me Lives on in wildwood brook and tree Each myth, each old divinity.

For me still laughs among her rocks The Naiad; and the Dryad's locks Drop perfume on the wildflower flocks.

The Satyr's hoof still prints the loam;

And, whiter than the wind-blown foam, The Oread haunts her mountain home.

To him, whose mind is fain to dwell With loveliness no time can quell, All things are real, imperishable.

To him--whatever facts may say-- Who sees the soul beneath the clay, Is proof of a diviner day.

The very stars and flowers preach A gospel old as God, and teach Philosophy a child may reach;

That can not die; that shall not cease;

That lives through idealities Of Beauty, ev'n as Rome and Greece: That lifts the soul above the clod, And, working out some period Of art, is part and proof of God.