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The Creek Post by :expat Category :Poems Author :Madison Julius Cawein Date :September 2011 Read :1471

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The Creek

O cheerly, cheerly by the road
And merrily down the billet;
And where the acre-field is sowed
With bristle-bearded millet.

Then o'er a pebbled path that goes,
Through vista and through dingle,
Unto a farmstead's windowed rose,
And roof of moss and shingle.

O darkly, darkly through the bush,
And dimly by the bowlder,
Where cane and water-cress grow lush,
And woodland wilds are older.

Then o'er the cedared way that leads,
Through burr and bramble-thickets,
Unto a burial-ground of weeds
Fenced in with broken pickets.

Then sadly, sadly down the vale,
And wearily through the rushes,
Where sunlight of the noon is pale,
And e'en the zephyr hushes.

For oft her young face smiled upon
My deeps here, willow-shaded;
And oft with bare feet in the sun
My shallows there she waded.

No more beneath the twinkling leaves
Shall stand the farmer's daughter!--
Sing softly past the cottage eaves,
O memory-haunted water!

No more shall bend her laughing face
Above me where the rose is!--
Sigh softly past the burial-place,
Where all her youth reposes!

(The end)
Madison Julius Cawein's poem: Creek

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Woman's Portion Woman's Portion

Woman's Portion
I. The leaves are shivering on the thorn, Drearily; And sighing wakes the lean-eyed morn, Wearily. I press my thin face to the pane, Drearily; But never will he come again. (Wearily.) The rain hath sicklied day with haze, Drearily; My tears run downward as I gaze, Wearily. The mist and morn spake unto me, Drearily: "What is this thing God gives to thee?" (Wearily.) I said unto the morn and mist, Drearily: "The babe unborn whom sin hath kissed." (Wearily.)

At Vespers At Vespers

At Vespers
High up in the organ-story A girl stands slim and fair; And touched with the casement's glory Gleams out her radiant hair. The young priest kneels at the altar, Then lifts the Host above; And the psalm intoned from the psalter Is pure with patient love. A sweet bell chimes; and a censer Swings gleaming in the gloom; The candles glimmer and denser Rolls up the pale perfume. Then high in the organ choir A voice of crystal soars, Of patience and soul's desire, That suffers