Poems of Madison Cawein Vol. 3 — The Wood

THE WOOD

Witch-hazel, dogwood, and the maple here;

And there the oak and hickory;

Linn, poplar, and the beech-tree, far and near As the eased eye can see.

Wild-ginger; wahoo, with its flat balloons;

And brakes of briers of a twilight green;

And fox-grapes plumed with summer; and strung moons Of mandrake flowers between.

Deep gold-green ferns, and mosses green and gray,-- Mats for what naked myth’s white feet?

-- And, cool and calm, a cascade far away With ever-even beat.

Old logs, made sweet with death; rough bits of bark;

And tangled twig and knotted root;

And sunshine splashes and great pools of dark;

And many a wild-bird’s flute.

Here let me sit until the Indian, Dusk, With copper-colored face, comes down;

Sowing the wildwood with star-fire and musk, And shadows blue and brown.

Then side by side with some magician Dream, I’ll take the owlet-haunted lane,-- Half-roofed with vines,--led by a firefly gleam, That brings me home again.

WOOD NOTES