Myth and Romance - Being a Book of Verses by Madison Julius Cawein
page 16 of 119 (13%)
page 16 of 119 (13%)
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Wild ridge on ridge the wooded hills arise, Between whose breezy vistas gulfs of skies Pilot great clouds like towering argosies, And hawk and buzzard breast the azure breeze. With many a foaming fall and glimmering reach Of placid murmur, under elm and beech, The creek goes twinkling through long glows and glooms Of woodland quiet, poppied with perfumes: The creek, in whose clear shallows minnow-schools Glitter or dart; and by whose deeper pools The blue kingfishers and the herons haunt; That, often startled from the freckled flaunt Of blackberry-lilies--where they feed and hide-- Trail a lank flight along the forestside With eery clangor. Here a sycamore, Smooth, wave-uprooted, builds from shore to shore A headlong bridge; and there, a storm-hurled oak Lays a long dam, where sand and gravel choke The water's lazy way. Here mistflower blurs Its bit of heaven; there the oxeye stirs Its gloaming hues of bronze and gold; and here, A gray cool stain, like dawn's own atmosphere, The dim wild-carrot lifts its crumpled crest: And over all, at slender flight or rest, The dragon-flies, like coruscating rays Of lapis-lazuli and chrysoprase, Drowsily sparkle through the summer days; And, dewlap-deep, here from the noontide heat The bell-hung cattle find a cool retreat: |
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