Madison Julius Cawein Poems >>

_And one, perchance, will read and sigh:
 "What aimless songs! Why will he sing
 Of nature that drags out her woe
 Through wind and rain, and sun, and snow,
 From miserable spring to spring?"
     Then put me by._

 _And one, perhaps, will read and say:
 "Why write of things across the sea;
 Of men and women, far and near,
 When we of things at home would hear--
 Well, who would call this poetry?"
     Then toss away._

 _A hopeless task have we, meseems,
 At this late day; whom fate hath made
 Sad, bankrupt heirs of song; who, filled
 With kindred yearnings, try to build
 A tower like theirs, that will not fade,
     Out of our dreams._