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    Weeds by the Wall Verses
    Weeds by the Wall Verses
    Weeds by the Wall Verses
    Ebook254 pages1 hour

    Weeds by the Wall Verses

    By Madison Julius Cawein

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 15, 2013
    Weeds by the Wall Verses

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      Book preview

      Weeds by the Wall Verses - Madison Julius Cawein

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Weeds by the Wall, by Madison J. Cawein

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: Weeds by the Wall

      Verses

      Author: Madison J. Cawein

      Release Date: January 2, 2010 [EBook #30830]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WEEDS BY THE WALL ***

      Produced by David Garcia, Ritu Aggarwal and the Online

      Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This

      file was produced from images generously made available

      by The Kentuckiana Digital Library)

      Weeds by the Wall

      VERSES

      BY

      MADISON CAWEIN

      Author of Myth and Romance, Undertones, Garden of Dreams, Shapes and Shadows, etc., etc.

      I am God in nature; I am a weed by the wall.

      —

      Emerson.

      LOUISVILLE

      JOHN P. MORTON & COMPANY

      1901

      Copyright, 1901,

      By MADISON J. CAWEIN

      TO

      Dr. HENRY A. COTTELL

      Whose Kind Words of Friendship and Approval have Encouraged me when I Most Needed Encouragement.

      For permission to reprint most of the poems included in this volume thanks are due to the Atlantic Monthly, Harper's Magazine and Bazar, Lippincott's, Saturday Evening Post, New England Magazine, Leslie's Monthly, Smart Set, Truth, Outlook, Independent, Youth's Companion, Woman's Home Companion, Munsey's, and a number of other periodicals and magazines.

      CONTENTS.

      FOREWORD.

      In the first rare spring of song,

      In my heart's young hours,

      In my youth 't was thus I sang,

      Choosing 'mid the flowers:—

      "Fair the Dandelion is,

      But for me too lowly;

      And the winsome Violet

      Is, forsooth, too holy.

      'But the Touchmenot?' Go to!

      What! a face that's speckled

      Like a common milking-maid's,

      Whom the sun hath freckled.

      Then the Wild-Rose is a flirt;

      And the trillium Lily,

      In her spotless gown, 's a prude,

      Sanctified and silly.

      By her cap the Columbine,

      To my mind, 's too merry;

      Gossips, I would sooner wed

      Some plebeian Berry.

      And the shy Anemone—

      Well, her face shows sorrow;

      Pale, goodsooth! alive to-day,

      Dead and gone to-morrow.

      Then that bold-eyed, buxom wench,

      Big and blond and lazy,—

      She's been chosen overmuch!—

      Sirs, I mean the Daisy.

      Pleasant persons are they all,

      And their virtues many;

      Faith I know but good of each,

      And naught ill of any.

      But I choose a May-apple;

      She shall be my Lady;

      Blooming, hidden and refined,

      Sweet in places shady."

      In my youth 'twas thus I sang,

      In my heart's young hours,

      In the first rare spring of song,

      Choosing 'mid the flowers.

      So I hesitated when

      Time alone was reckoned

      By the hours that Fancy smiled,

      Love and Beauty beckoned.

      Hard it was for me to choose

      From the flowers that flattered;

      And the blossom that I chose

      Soon lay dead and scattered.

      Hard I found it then, ah, me!

      Hard I found the choosing;

      Harder, harder since I've found,

      Ah, too hard the losing.

      Haply had I chosen then

      From the weeds that tangle

      Wayside, woodland and the wall

      Of my garden's angle,

      I had chosen better, yea,

      For these later hours—

      Longer last the weeds, and oft

      Sweeter are than flowers.

      Weeds by the Wall.

      A WILD IRIS.

      That day we wandered 'mid the hills,—so lone

      Clouds are not lonelier,—the forest lay

      In emerald darkness 'round us. Many a stone

      And gnarly root, gray-mossed, made wild our way;

      And many a bird the glimmering light along

      Showered the golden bubbles of its song.

      Then in the valley, where the brook went by,

      Silvering the ledges that it rippled from,—

      An isolated slip of fallen sky,

      Epitomizing heaven in its sum,—

      An iris bloomed—blue, as if, flower-disguised,

      The gaze of Spring had there materialized.

      I have forgotten many things since then—

      Much beauty and much happiness and grief;

      And toiled and dreamed among my fellow-men,

      Rejoicing in the knowledge life is brief.

      'T is winter now, so says each barren bough;

      And face and hair proclaim 't is winter now.

      I would forget the gladness of that spring!

      I would forget that day when she and I,

      Between the bird-song and the blossoming,

      Went hand in hand beneath the soft spring sky!—

      Much is forgotten, yea—and yet, and yet,

      The things we would we never can forget.—

      Nor I how May then minted treasuries

      Of crowfoot gold; and

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