Poems of Madison Cawein Vol. 3 — A Hollow of the Hills

I

How oft the swallow darted Above its deeps of blue, Where leaves close clung or parted To let the sunlight through!

Where roses, honey-hearted, Hung full of living dew!

II

How oft, from out the heaven, Upon me blew the balm Of soft winds, summer-driven From continents of calm!

With rustlings as of riven, Sea-sounding pine and palm!

III

Oft from its leafy cover I watched the red-bird slip;

And marked, like some rude lover, The bee, with robber lip, Bend down the snowy clover, Or make the wild-rose dip.

IV

Still darts the soaring swallow Above it; and the rose Still blooms within its hollow Where still the runnel flows;

The brook,--that I shall follow No more,--that seaward goes.

V

There still the white moon shineth At night through rifted trees;

Upon the stream that twineth Through blooms that no one sees;

And on,--as I divineth,-- My soul that sighs for these.

BENEATH THE BEECHES