Poems of Madison Cawein Vol. 3 — The Age of Gold

THE AGE OF GOLD

The clouds that tower in storm, that beat Arterial thunder in their veins;

The wildflowers lifting, shyly sweet, Their perfect faces from the plains,-- All high, all lowly things of Earth For no vague end have had their birth.

Low strips of mist, that mesh the moon Above the foaming waterfall;

And mountains that God’s hand hath hewn, And forests where the great winds call,-- Within the grasp of such as see Are parts of a conspiracy;

To seize the soul with beauty; hold The heart with love: and thus fulfill Within ourselves the Age of Gold, That never died, and never will,-- As long as one true nature feels The wonders that the world reveals.

A SONG FOR LABOR