Poems of Madison Cawein Vol. 3 — Comradery

With eyes hand-arched he looks into The morning’s face, then turns away With school-boy feet, all wet with dew, Out for a holiday.

The hill brook sings; incessant stars, Foam-fashioned, on its restless breast;

And where he wades its water-bars Its song is happiest.

A comrade of the chinquapin, He looks into its knotty eyes And sees its heart; and, deep within, Its soul that makes him wise.

The wood-thrush knows and follows him, Who whistles up the birds and bees;

And round him all the perfumes swim Of woodland loam and trees.

Where’er he pass the supple springs’ Foam-people sing the flowers awake;

And sappy lips of bark-clad things Laugh ripe each fruited brake.

His touch is a companionship;

His word, an old authority: He comes, a lyric on his lip, Unstudied Poesy.