Poems of Madison Cawein Vol. 3 — The Willow Bottom

THE WILLOW BOTTOM

Lush green the grass that grows between The willows of the bottom-land;

Edged by the careless water, tall and green The brown-topped cat-tails stand.

The cows come gently here to browse, Slow through the great-leafed sycamores: You hear a dog bark from a low-roofed house With cedars round its doors.

Then all is quiet as the wings Of the one buzzard floating there: Anon a woman’s high-pitched voice that sings An old camp-meeting air.

A cock that flaps and crows; and then-- Heard drowsy through the rustling corn-- A flutter, and the cackling of a hen Within a hay-sweet barn.

How still again!

no water stirs: No wind is heard: although the weeds Are waved a little: and from silk-filled burrs Drift by a few soft seeds.

So drugged with dreams the place, that you Expect to see her gliding by,-- Hummed round of bees, through blossoms spilling dew,-- The Spirit of July.