Poems of Madison Cawein Vol. 3 — The Old Spring

I

Under rocks whereon the rose Like a strip of morning glows;

Where the azure-throated newt Drowses on the twisted root;

And the brown bees, humming homeward, Stop to suck the honeydew;

Fern and leaf-hid gleaming gloamward, Drips the wildwood spring I knew, Drips the spring my boyhood knew.

II

Myrrh and music everywhere Haunt its cascades--like the hair That a Naiad tosses cool, Swimming strangely beautiful, With white fragrance for her bosom, And her mouth a breath of song:-- Under leaf and branch and blossom Flows the woodland spring along, Sparkling, singing flows along.

III

Still the wet wan mornings touch Its gray rocks, perhaps; and such Slender stars as dusk may have Pierce the rose that roofs its wave;

Still the thrush may call at noontide And the whippoorwill at night;

Nevermore, by sun or moontide, Shall I see it gliding white, Falling, flowing, wild and white.

THE FOREST SPRING