Poems of Madison Cawein Vol. 3 — The Creek-Road

THE CREEK-ROAD

Calling, the heron flies athwart the blue That sleeps above it; reach on rocky reach Of water sings by sycamore and beech, In whose warm shade bloom lilies not a few.

It is a page whereon the sun and dew Scrawl sparkling words in dawn’s delicious speech;

A laboratory where the wood-winds teach, Dissect each scent and analyze each hue.

Not otherwise than beautiful, doth it Record the happenings of each summer day;

Where we may read, as in a catalogue, When passed a thresher; when a load of hay;

Or when a rabbit; or a bird, that lit;

And now a barefoot truant and his dog.