Poems of Madison Cawein Vol. 3 — Musings

_Inspiration_ All who have toiled for Art, who’ve won or lost, Sat equal priests at her high Pentecost;

Only the chrism and sacrament of flame, Anointing all, inspired not all the same.

II

_Apportionment_ How often in our search for joy below Hoping for happiness we chance on woe.

III

_Victory_ They who take courage from their own defeat Are victors too, no matter how much beat.

IV

_Preparation_ How often hope’s fair flower blooms richest where The soul was fertilized with black despair.

V

_Disillusion_ Those unrequited in their love who die Have never drained life’s chief illusion dry.

VI

_Success_ Success allures us in the earth and skies: We seek to win her, but, too amorous, Mocking, she flees us.

--Haply, were we wise, We should not strive and she would come to us.

VII

_Science_ Miranda-like, above the world she waves The wand of Prospero; and, beautiful, Ariel the airy, Caliban the dull,-- Lightning and Steam,--are her unwilling slaves.

VIII

_The Universal Wind_ Wild son of Heav’n, with laughter and alarm, Now east, now west, now north, now south he goes, Bearing in one harsh hand dark death and storm, And in the other, sunshine and a rose.

IX

_Compensation_ Yea, whom He loves the Lord God chasteneth With disappointments, so that this side death, Through suffering and failure, they know Hell To make them worthy in that Heaven to dwell Of Love’s attainment, where they come to be Parts of its beauty and divinity.

X

_Poppies_ Summer met Sleep at sunset, Dreaming within the south,-- Drugged with his soul’s deep slumber, Red with her heart’s hot drouth, These are the drowsy kisses She pressed upon his mouth.

XI

_Her Eyes and Mouth_ There is no Paradise like that which lies Deep in the heavens of her azure eyes: There is no Eden here on Earth that glows Like that which smiles rich in her mouth’s red rose.

XII

_Her Soul_ To me not only does her soul suggest Palms and the peace of tropic shore and wood, But, oceaned far beyond the golden West, The Fortunate Islands of true Womanhood.

XIII

_Her Face_ The gladness of our Southern spring; the grace Of summer; and the dreaminess of fall Are parts of her sweet nature.

--Such a face Was Ruth’s, methinks, divinely spiritual.