Author: Madison Julius Cawein

---

I.

    September On Cape Ann

    The partridge-berry flecks with flame the way
    That leads to ferny hollows where the bee
    Drones on the aster. Far away the sea
    Points its deep sapphire with a gleam of grey.
    Here from this height where, clustered sweet, the bay
    Clumps a green couch, the haw and barberry
    Beading her hair, sad Summer, seemingly,
    Has fallen asleep, unmindful of the day.
    The chipmunk barks upon the old stone wall;
    And in the shadows, like a shadow, stirs
    The woodchuck where the boneset's blossom creams.
    Was that a phoebe with its pensive call?
    A sighing wind that shook the drowsy firs?
    Or only Summer waking from her dreams?

II.

    In An Annisquam Garden

    Old phantoms haunt it of the long ago;
    Old ghosts of old-time lovers and of dreams:
    Within the quiet sunlight there, meseems,
    I see them walking where those lilies blow.
    The hardy phlox sways to some garment's flow;
    The salvia there with sudden scarlet streams,
    Caught from some ribbon of some throat that gleams,
    Petunia-fair, in flounce and furbelow.
    I seem to hear their whispers in each wind
    That wanders mid the flowers. There they stand!
    Among the shadows of that apple-tree!
    They are not dead, whom still it keeps in mind,
    This garden, planted by some lovely hand
    That keeps it fragrant with its memory.

III.

    The Elements

    I saw the spirit of the pines that spoke
    With spirits of the ocean and the storm:
    Against the tumult rose its tattered form,
    Wild rain and darkness round it like a cloak.
    Fearful it stood, limbed like some twisted oak,
    Gesticulating with one giant arm,
    Raised as in protest of the night's alarm,
    Defiant still of some impending stroke.
    Below it, awful in its majesty,
    The spirit of the deep, with rushing locks,
    Raved: and above it, lightning-clad and shod,
    Thundered the tempest. Thus they stood, the three;
    Terror around them; while, upon the rocks,
    Destruction danced, mocking at man and God.

IV.

    Night And Storm At Gloucester

    I heard the wind last night that cried and wept
    Like some old skipper's ghost outside my door;
    And on the roof the rain that tramped and tore
    Like feet of seamen on a deck storm-swept.
    Against the pane the Night with shudderings crept,
    And crouched there wailing; moaning ever more
    Its tale of terror; of the wrath on shore,
    The rage at sea, bidding all wake who slept.
    And then I heard a voice as old as Time;
    The calling of the mother of the world,
    Ocean, who thundered on her granite crags,
    Foaming with fury, meditating crime.
    And then, far off, wild minute guns; and, hurled
    Through roaring surf, the rush of sails in rags.

V.

    The Voice Of Ocean

    A cry went through the darkness; and the moon,
    Hurrying through storm, gazed with a ghastly face,
    Then cloaked herself in scud: the merman race
    Of surges ceased; and then th' olian croon
    Of the wild siren, Wind, within the shrouds
    Sunk to a sigh. The ocean in that place
    Seemed listening; haunted, for a moment's space,
    By something dread that cried against the clouds.
    Mystery and night; and with them fog and rain:
    And then that cry again as if the deep
    Uttered its loneliness in one dark word:
    Her horror of herself; her Titan pain;
    Her monsters; and the dead that she must keep,
    Has kept, alone, for centuries, unheard.

VI.

    Waves

    I saw the daughters of the ocean dance
    With wind and tide, and heard them on the rocks:
    White hands they waved me, tossing sunlit locks,
    Green as the light an emerald holds in trance.
    Their music bound me as with necromance
    Of mermaid beauty, that for ever mocks,
    And lured me as destruction lures wild flocks
    Of light-led gulls and storm-tossed cormorants.
    Nearer my feet they crept: I felt their lips:
    Their hands of foam that caught at me, to press,
    As once they pressed Leander: and, straightway,
    I saw the monster-ending of their hips;
    The cruelty hid in their soft caress;
    The siren-passion ever more to slay.

VII.

    A Bit Of Coast

    One tree, storm-twisted, like an evil hag,
    The sea-wind in its hair, beside a path
    Waves frantic arms, as if in wild-witch wrath
    At all the world. Gigantic, grey as slag,
    Great boulders shoulder through the hills, or crag
    The coast with danger, monster-like, that lifts
    Huge granite, round which wheel the gulls and swifts,
    And at whose base the rotting sea-weeds drag.
    Inward the hills are wooded; valley-cleft;
    Tangled with berries; vistaed dark with pines;
    At whose far end, as 'twere within a frame,
    Some trail of water that the ocean left
    Gleams like a painting where one white sail shines,
    Lit with the sunset's poppy-coloured flame.

VIII.

    Autumn At Annisquam

    The bitter-sweet and red-haw in her hands,
    And in her hair pale berries of the bay,
    She haunts the coves and every Cape Ann way,
    The Indian, Autumn, wandered from her bands.
    Beside the sea, upon a rock, she stands,
    And looks across the foam, and straight the grey
    Takes on a sunset tone, and all the day
    Murmurs with music of forgotten lands.
    Now in the woods, knee-deep among the ferns,
    She walks and smiles and listens to the pines,
    The sweetheart pines, that kiss and kiss again,
    Whispering their love: and now she frowns and turns
    And in the west the fog in ragged lines
    Rears the wild wigwams of the tribes of rain.

IX.

    Storm Sabbat

    Against the pane the darkness, wet and cold,
    Pressed a wild face and raised a ragged arm
    Of cloud, clothed on with thunder and alarm
    And terrible with elemental gold.
    Above the fisher's hut, beyond the wold,
    The wind, a Salem witch, rushed shrieking harm,
    And swept her mad broom over every farm
    To devil-revels in some forest old.
    Hell and its-hags, it seemed, held court again
    On every rock, trailing a tattered gown
    Of surf, and whirling, screaming, to the sea
    Elf-locks, fantastic, of dishevelled rain;
    While in their midst death hobbled up and down
    Monstrous and black, with diabolic glee.

X.

    The Aurora

    Night and the sea, and heaven overhead
    Cloudless and vast, as 'twere of hollowed spar,
    Wherein the facets gleamed of many a star,
    And the half-moon a crystal radiance shed.
    Then suddenly, with burning banners spread,
    In pale celestial armour, as for war,
    Into the heaven, flaming from afar,
    The Northern Lights their phalanxed splendours led.
    Night, for the moment, seemed to catch her breath,
    And earth gazed, silent with astonishment,
    As spear on spear the auroral armies came;
    As when, triumphant over hell and death,
    The victor angels thronged God's firmament
    With sword on sword and burning oriflamme.

XI.

    Dogtown

    Far as the eye can see the land is grey,
    And desolation sits among the stones
    Looking on ruin who, from rocks like bones,
    Stares with a dead face at the dying day.
    Mounds, where the barberry and bay hold sway,
    Show where homes rose once; where the village crones
    Gossiped, and man, with many sighs and groans,
    Laboured and loved and went its daily way.
    Only the crow now, like a hag returned,
    Croaks on the common that its hoarse voice mocks.
    Meseems that here the sorrow of the earth
    Has lost herself, and, with the past concerned,
    Sits with the ghosts of dreams that haunt these rocks,
    And old despairs to which man's soul gave birth.

XII.

    An Abandoned Quarry

    The barberry burns, the rose-hip crimsons warm,
    And haw and sumach hedge the hill with fire,
    Down which the road winds, worn of hoof and tire,
    Only the blueberry-picker plods now from the farm.
    Here once the quarry-driver, brown of arm,
    Wielded the whip when, deep in mud and mire,
    The axle strained, and earned his daily hire,
    Labouring bareheaded in both sun and storm.
    Wild-cherry now and blackberry and bay
    Usurp the place: the wild-rose, undisturbed,
    Riots, where once the workman earned his wage,
    Whose old hands rest now, like this granite grey,
    These rocks, whose stubborn will whilom he curbed,
    Hard as the toil that was his heritage.

XIII.

    A Pool Among The Rocks

    I know a pool, whose crystalline repose
    Sleeps under walls of granite, whence the pine
    Leans looking at its image, line for line
    Repeated with the sumach and wild-rose
    That redden on the rocks; where, at day's close,
    The sunset dreams, and lights incarnadine
    Dark waters and the place seems brimmed with wine,
    A giant cup that splendour overflows.
    Night, in her livery of stars and moon,
    Stoops to its mirror, gazing steadily;
    And, saddened by her beauty, drops one tear,
    A falling star; while round it sighs the rune
    Of winds, conspirators that sweep from sea,
    Whispering of things that fill the heart with fear.

XIV.

    High On A Hill

    There is a place among the Cape Ann hills
    That looks from fir-dark summits on the sea,
    Whose surging sapphire changes constantly
    Beneath deep heavens, Morning windowsills,
    With golden calm, or sunset citadels
    With storm, whose towers the winds' confederacy
    And bandit thunder hold in rebel fee,
    Swooping upon the ilsher's sail that swells.
    A place, where Sorrow ceases to complain,
    And life's old Cares put all their burdens by,
    And Weariness forgets itself in rest.
    Would that all life were like it; might obtain
    Its pure repose, its outlook, strong and high,
    That sees, beyond, far Islands of the Blest.

---

Type of Poem: Sonnet

Date Written:

Date Published:

Language: English

Keywords: Public Domain

Source: Public Domain Collection

Publisher:

Rights/Permissions: Public Domain

Comments/Notes: The poem is a vivid and expansive exploration of nature and the sea, encapsulating the shifting moods of the natural world and its intersections with human emotion and experience. Split into fourteen sections, it employs a rich array of imagery and metaphor, painting a series of distinct yet interconnected scenes. The poet's use of language imbues the poem with a vivid and visceral sense of place, with each section focused on a different aspect of the natural world - from the sea and its waves to the hills, gardens, and rocky paths.

Themes of change and the passage of time are prominent. The poem moves through different times of day and seasons, reflecting the natural world's constant transition. This is paralleled by shifts in tone, which range from tranquil and contemplative to turbulent and dramatic, mirroring the capriciousness of nature. The use of personification throughout heightens the sense of nature as a living, sentient force. The sea, the wind, and the seasons are all imbued with human characteristics, further blurring the line between human and natural realms.

Structurally, the poem is consistent, adhering to a traditional rhyme scheme which lends a sense of rhythm and musicality, echoing perhaps the rhythmic ebb and flow of the sea that is so central to the poem. Among the standout literary devices used, metaphor and personification are most prominent, transforming the natural world into a stage filled with emotive and dynamic characters and scenarios. Ultimately, this is a poem that invites the reader to see the natural world anew, as a realm rich with emotion, change, and profound beauty.